Mind Games
by BiJane
Summary: Year 4: something strange is happening to Dumbledore, and the Doctor feels it's his fault. But there's no time to dwell on that, with the presence of unknown aliens at Hogwart. Sequel to Darkness.
1. Ruin

**Well, here's Year 4. Sequel to Light, Darkness and Changes, pretty much. Mostly to Darkness.  
There'll be an original alien of mine in this story, just because. But not just that...**

**Word of warning: i might be a little evil.  
Please don't hate me...  
I'll explain things, as much as possible, as the story goes on. There's a reason for most of the things that happen. Most. Well, some.  
Um, anyway, enjoy!**

A little blue box whirled onwards through all of time. It shook, and juddered, yet it slipped through every little temporal eddy, every bit of disturbance rampant in the vortex around it.

Still, it was a bumpy ride.

It eventually materialized on a space station around some distant moon. Grinning, the Doctor, Amy and Rory left the TARDIS, off to explore.

They returned a couple of minutes later, running from a large, lethal-looking robot which they'd disturbed while gallivanting around. Panting, they ducked into the TARDIS: the robot raised two, large hands, each with an array of fine bristles on, and pressed them either side of the blue box.

Buzzing, it ran its two hands up and down the sides, brushing every speck of the exterior. Once it had finished, tapping the light at the top with what seemed to be a pleased flourish, it turned away to leave.

The Doctor looked out at it, astonished: before laughing.

It was just an automated cleaner. Nothing threatening: it just wanted to wash away dirt.

He was still laughing when the TARDIS phone rang.

The Time Lord hopped over to it, scooping it up with one hand while setting the TARDIS course with the other.

"Hello," he spoke into the phone, still grinning, "Wait a sec," he frowned, looking back down to the console. Expertly, though Amy suspected it was mostly fluke, he hit a few more buttons, sliding one thing across, and tapped an unseen word into the typewriter.

Following that, he raised the phone again, speaking properly: "Yes?"

His expression slowly decayed into one of seriousness, as the person on the other end of the phone continued. His free hand gripped the edge of the TARDIS console, tense, worried.

"Where are you?" his voice was now completely serious. Amy and Rory looked at each other, confused, and a little perturbed. It took a lot to make the Doctor act like that.

"And when?" he said, after a few seconds.

Another pause; evidently the person on the other end was responding.

"See you there," the Doctor mumbled.

Without a word to his two companions, the Time Lord began to fiddle once more with the console of the time machine. He struck a lever, grabbing onto the railing as the TARDIS shook, slowly groaning to a halt.

"Doctor?" Amy hopped forwards, trying to catch the focused Time Lord's attention: "Doctor?" she waved a hand in front of the alien's face.

"Yes," he muttered back, still distracted as he attempted to safely stabilize the box

"Where are we going?" the redhead leant forwards, frowning.

A moment of silence. The Doctor looked up at her, jumping back from the console as the wheezing of the engines fell into silence.

"Let's see!" the Time Lord gave a child-like grin, turning and sprinting out of the TARDIS doors. The two followed.

"Oh," Rory stated dully, as they left the blue box. Distinctly unimpressed.

It was Earth, by the look of it; only nowhere major. It looked, sounded, and smelt like a subway station, darkened and empty. The curved wall of white tiles opposite were just visible, in the light coming from the TARDIS interior, and a small, illuminated sphere near the ceiling.

Rory did a double take. The sphere of light didn't appear to have any particular cause; it was hanging there of its own volition, bathing the underground station in a faint, comforting glow.

Quietly, a small stray cat ambled up to them, purring slightly. Amy looked down, not quite muffling an adoring noise at the sight of it. She knelt, as if to scratch it-

And, with a step forwards, it grew into a human woman.

"Professor McGonagall," the Doctor said with an excited grin, reaching out to shake her hand.

She nodded stiffly.

"So, why are we here?" the Doctor soon sobered up. Now he spoke, sombre, determined.

"I told you on the," the teacher made an expression of distaste. Unfamiliarity with the word, "Phone." She kept her lips tight, severe.

"Amy and Rory haven't heard," the Time Lord replied, "And I could do with a bit more detail."

"You're a doctor?" McGonagall asked. Her attention was fixed on the Time Lord, and not his two companions.

"_The _Doctor actually," he straightened his bow tie,

"Can you help?" the teacher wasn't in the mood for any games. She continued to meet the Doctor's eyes with a frosty stare

"So I heard," the Doctor lowered his hands from his bow tie, voice dropping, "I'm going to try at least."

"Excuse me," Amy interrupted: "What's going on?"

An expression of irritation passed over McGonagall's face, as if she'd forgotten the redhead was there. Rigidly, she turned, meeting the redhead's eyes.

"Professor Dumbledore is ill," the teacher stated, simply.

O

The lights went out.

Instead of apparating to Hogwarts quickly, the Doctor had insisted he take the TARDIS. He carefully landed it, mostly by luck, in an out-of-the-way corner of the dungeons. Which was actually pretty impressive considering he'd been aiming for Dumbledore's Office, though he didn't tell anyone that.

He stepped outside, with Amy and Rory and McGonagall, looking around the dreary grey stone. A quiet few seconds passed as McGonagall adapted to her first trip in the TARDIS.

And then the doors of the TARDIS slammed shut, on their own accord. And, with one last glimpse, they saw the lights within the time machine extinguish.

"No!" the Doctor shouted suddenly, running back to the door. He flattened himself against the blue.

"Forgot to make it used to magic again?" Rory rolled his eyes; remembering earlier years.

Conventional technology didn't work in Hogwarts. They needed to adapt it to run on the magic around them; and more than once, the Doctor had needed to change the TARDIS systems so that it ran in the magic-rich area of Hogwarts.

"I did, I know I did," the Doctor was muttering, still pressed against his blue box. It gave a small, weak groan. "What's wrong?" he crooned, gently stroking a panel.

Amy and Rory shared a mildly amused glance. The Doctor seemed to have an excessive closeness to his machine, at times. He really did.

"Doctor," Rory reached out, sighing, "It's just the same thing as before. Magic….stuff," the sentence got away from him. There wasn't really an easy way to say it.

"I'm sure I fixed it," the Doctor mumbled, stepping away slowly, frowning, "I'm sure."

"Evidently not," Amy replied, with a great exhalation, literally dragging the Doctor away from the TARDIS.

The Doctor had already stepped away from the sealed TARDIS however; trusting in his machine's capacity to recover. Dumbledore's apparent illness was a great deal more pressing.

They hastily moved through the halls and corridors of Hogwarts School. The year had just started; and plenty of students could be seen milling around, especially new ones, some dressed in dainty blue, some in tough fur and darkened clothing.

"The Triwizard Tournament," McGonagall said, by way of explanation, as she lead them through Hogwarts. "The students of two more wizarding schools, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, are staying at Hogwarts to take part."

The Doctor wasn't listening. Too distracted: his encyclopaedic mind was running through every possible illness Dumbledore could have contracted, and their respective cures.

Time kept diverging around Hogwarts. Things kept changing; in every single year so far. And now Dumbledore had fallen sick, and something strange had possibly happened to the TARDIS. He didn't dwell on the latter, hoping otherwise, but he still remembered.

Was something interfering? Someone?

They passed the Great Hall. The goblet of fire flared up as they moved past; a Beauxbatons student dropping her name into the goblet. A group of younger students watched from the side, envious of those old enough to enter.

Quite some minutes later, McGonagall reached the gargoyle to Dumbledore's Office. The Doctor paced, impatient, behind her, waiting for her to speak the password, and lower the statue.

Eventually, they were within the headmaster's office. It instantly looked different; darker.

A curtain was drawn across the back window; the only light came from Fawkes. The phoenix was standing on its normal perch; head drooped, feathers blackened. It was clearly upset; a tear beaded in the corner of its eye, and the feathers around its eyes were damp.

Phoenix tears were supposed to heal. There was something off with this illness, if Fawkes had not cured it.

Dumbledore's wand lay on his desk; though the headmaster himself could not be seen. McGonagall silently lead them through the darkened room. Her solemn expression could clearly be seen in the phoenix light.

"Here," she said, closing her eyes. Her tone and gesturing hand were quivering.

A soft murmur came from where she was pointing; behind an obscure bookcase, one that stood near the back of the office. Dumbledore couldn't clearly be seen; only his vague silhouette through the books. He was sitting or kneeling.

The Doctor gestured to the other three, not speaking, placing a finger on his lips. Then, carefully, he stepped around, quiet. Frowning, he moved closing to the headmaster.

Dumbledore was sitting on the floor, surrounded by a pile of fallen books. His robes were loosely draped over his thin body, and a little food was smudged on his chin. He wasn't moving.

Apparently the teachers were feeding him, giving him drink and sustenance. There was nothing that the Doctor could see, physically wrong with him. He just wasn't moving; not at all.

Dumbledore stared forward, not reacting to the Doctor's approach, not looking at the Time Lord.

"Hello?" the Doctor said softly, tentative, frowning.

Dumbledore turned, eyes wide, staring. Unblinking. The only movement was in his neck; the headmaster stayed completely still after the brief, small action. Blue eyes were wide.

"Hello," Dumbledore rasped, the word coming from seemingly reluctant lips.

"Are you ok, Albus?" the Doctor leant closer, reaching out slowly to touch the headmaster's old cheek.

A moment of silence. The Doctor's hand was just centimetres from his head, when Dumbledore opened his mouth, speaking once more.

"Are you ok, Albus?" he echoed the Doctor's words, words little more than a croak, eyes wide in the darkness.

The Doctor tensed, pulling his hand back: "It can't be," he murmured, weakly

"It can't be," Dumbledore echoed, still rasping. Voice almost mocking.

The Time Lord stepped back, breathing heavily. Almost afraid: at the very least, profoundly shocked. In his mind, several possibilities ran.

And one of them was guilt. Was this his fault? It was conceivable. Easily possible. This creature- There was no possible way it should be on Earth, let alone in this century.

"Everyone, out," the Doctor said clearly, urgent. The others looked at him, surprised, yet the Time Lord continued, more forceful this time: "We'll talk outside. Out, now!"

As soon as he finished speaking, Dumbledore again began to speak. His slow, whispered words went unheard by the others; they were already exiting, spurred on by the Doctor's urgency.

_Everyone, out. We'll talk outside. _The headmaster shook, giving what could only be described as the semblance of a smile. His blue eyes were wide, tortured. _Out, now!_


	2. Will To Live

**Hee, most of you seem to have recognized the foe in the first chapter. Well...who ever said there was just going to be one this year? As I said before: there's a reason for an awful lot in this story...  
So, an explanation now. No idea how canon it is, just my thoughts.  
Enjoy! **

"So, Doctor?" Amy sighed, "You going to tell us what that was?"

The Doctor looked from her, to Rory, to McGonagall. Then he gave one haunted glance back at the gargoyle, and at the darkened office beyond.

"First," he regained his voice, "No one should go in there. I mean it, no one. There's something possessing Albus, and it's," a flicker of indecision passed over his face, "Impossible."

The three near him exchanged looks. Anything impossible by the Doctor's standards must be pretty unlikely.

"Possessing?" McGonagall queried, "Surely you don't mean that. Nothing can…" her voice trailed off

"It's the best word," the Doctor defended himself. "I've seen it before," somehow, he was reluctant to say those words, "Not here though. A long way away."

"Then how did it get to Dumbledore?" Rory murmured, confused. He frowned at the Time Lord: and the Doctor seemed unwilling to respond.

Instead, the Doctor turned, mumbling something to the gargoyle. The statue nodded. Grinning, though his eyes weren't in it, the Doctor turned back to them.

"Doctor," McGonagall began, voice perilous

"Alright," the Doctor slumped, resigned. Then, semi-matter-of-factly he continued: "I brought it here."

O

Midnight.

Not the time; the planet. A whole world form of beautiful, pure diamond. Shining under the rays of a Sun which could kill all life; nothing could survive on the planet's diamond surface.

Nothing that they knew of.

But there was something. Drifting.

Midnight was harsh. Unforgiving. Lonely. It was upon a great crystal plain that the being rested. Layers of crystal that had never been seen.

Nothing could survive Midnight. Unaided, at least. It was a large, armoured tour bus that trundled its way along: protected against the deadly sunlight.

Driving along uncharted ground. Crusader 50, they called it. Diverted for one reason or another, the Crusader was perceived by the Voice. And so, the Voice moved closer.

It entered the shuttle bus: and possession of one woman began.

Possession took three stages. At first, there was paralysis. The body of the victim was taken from their control: and placed under the dominion of the Voice. She would repeat all she heard. Until enough had been absorbed.

She would link minds with the others: and speak in unison. That was the next stage. Complete synchronization.

The Voice would focus on one person: link minds with them. Touch their mind; start to control it. She did so, with a man called the Doctor. She only spoke with him. The others were of no consequence.

And when enough words had been heard, she underwent the final stage. The Voice spoke from the woman's lips: in advance of the Doctor. She stole his words, his voice.

And at the same time, had almost entered him.

Despite the effort to return him to the world it knew, the others aboard the bus overcame her. She was thrown out into the lethal light.

The trace of her touch remained in the Doctor: a permanent taint.

Silent days passed.

And then he regenerated. Shining energy cascade: and he was healed, his body completely cured of the radiation which threatened to overcome it. And within his mind, the trace of the Voice revelled: cured of the weakness and incompleteness which had overwhelmed it.

Perhaps the Doctor had felt it. Felt the soft energy deep in the furthest corner of his mind; corrupting him. Perhaps that had been the source of his reluctance: well, that and fear.

Whatever the cause, it was for naught.

The Voice too underwent a regeneration, of sorts. Its purpose was not changed. Its life was not changed, not to the slightest degree.

But it cheated death.

_Dumbledore lay on the ground, unmoving. The victim of a Dementor's presence: unconscious? Or something more?_

_The Doctor knelt by his side, touching one finger to the headmaster's head. He closed his eyes, concentrating, touching the void beyond his touch-_

_And the Voice slipped through. _

From that moment, Albus Dumbledore was taken. The Voice did not exert influence immediately; still recovering from effective-death and regeneration, and the hasty transfer.

But once it succeeded, Dumbledore was paralyzed. Doomed to live out the same fate as Sky Silvestry.

O

The Doctor closed his eyes after relating the story, desperately ashamed, desperately guilty. It was because of him that the Voice was here; ever since he touched Dumbledore's mind, his own mind felt somewhat…empty. One corner of it had been vacated: emptied. He'd left, haunted by it, a little tense.

And now he knew why.

"How did you stop it before?" Rory said.

Quite some time had passed since the Doctor had spoken. His words weren't taken in easily: whatever species the Voice was, anything which same so close to killing the Doctor, anything alien which controlled Dumbledore… It didn't bear thinking about.

"Ah," the Doctor's face fell further. "I didn't.".

His words seemed to ripple through the air; spreading a shocked silence in their wake.

Undefeated. Even the Doctor didn't know how to: but still, it resided within Albus Dumbledore. And there was no way to save the headmaster. The teachers had tried every conceivable magic: McGonagall knew that, indeed, she'd performed many of them herself.

Nothing worked.

"She died," the Doctor closed his eyes, murmuring: "The woman possessed. She- she died. That's the only reason I survived."

McGonagall looked silently up to Dumbledore's Office. The normally stern assistant-headmistress seemed profoundly affected.

Unless they could accomplish a miracle: unless they could outdo a creature which even the Doctor couldn't explain, unless they could defeat something which had outsmarted the Doctor, then there was only one course of action: to prevent any more people to be possessed by the Voice.

Albus Dumbledore may have to die.

"We can't kill him," the Doctor mumbled, seemingly reading the thoughts of those near: "He's vital to the future of Hogwarts. Not right now, but the end of the fifth year: he duels Voldemort, saves Harry's life. We need him for that."

The thought of Dumbledore in his present condition made the Doctor shiver: wide blue eyes, staring out, imploring, almost begging for aid. And those hands…shaking. The rest of his body was completely still, paralyzed by the Voice. Yet his hands shook; weary with age and stress.

Like a child; an infant. He couldn't feed himself, couldn't do anything himself. The teachers had been looking after him; maybe they'd even spoken to him. Feeding the Voice with more words.

"No one can go in the Office," the Doctor stated, after several seconds of silence. "The Voice feeds on words; even if you all promise to be silent, we can't take the risk."

"Doctor," Minerva McGonagall began, "I am the assistant headmistress of Hogwarts school; we cannot simply bar the Office to all."

"Alright then," the Doctor stepped aside; relenting a little too easily.

Casting a wary look at the Time Lord, Minerva stepped forwards, to the spot just in front of the gargoyle. Clearly, she enunciated the password:

"Fizzing Whizzbee," she frowned for a moment. The gargoyle was quite still. Impassive.

"Changed the password," the Doctor smiled as he spoke, a little cocky. The threw a small black wallet from one hand to the other; Amy recognized it as the one holding psychic paper. "It was happy to obey once I showed him this," he flashed the paper, turning it around and frowning at it himself; "Apparently I'm Quasimodo, friend of the gargoyles. Oh well, he was a nice chap. Took old Victor to meet him once."

Minerva McGonagall could just stare at him. She was quivering; a great deal of it being indignation.

"Doctor," her piercing word made the Time Lord wince, "You do not have the right to take c-"

"It's for Albus, okay?" the Doctor seemed to rise above her; his voice reaching the intensity of a shout.

The fiery passion behind his actions was enough motivation for anything. Minerva found herself taking an unwilling step back.

Even to the side of the gargoyle, the Doctor seemed to be part of a barrier, preventing her from trying to ascend with it. His presence alone kept the Office forbidden.

"Lose the bow tie, Doctor," Amy interrupted his confrontation with McGonagall: her expression was speculative.

"That again?" the Doctor sighed, "Bow ties are cool."

As soon as he said that, the gargoyle blinked into life. Its stony body turned, grating along the walls, to expose a stairwell.

"You're really so predictable, Doctor," Amy rolled her eyes.

The Doctor looked suitably abashed; and yet, when any of them tried to enter the exposed passage, the Time Lord proved too fast. He commanded the gargoyle to turn; and whispered something into a chipped ear.

The password had been changed; and try as they might, they could not reopen the passageway.

Dumbledore and the Voice were now safer, and tormented.

O

Gryffindor sat in their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson: the teacher was Mad-Eye Moody. He strode along the front of the class, wand in hand, and with three spiders, each in glass cases, on his desk.

"Wake up Damien!" Mad-Eye banged the hilt of his wand on the desk next to a drowsy Gryffindor.

The boy on the desk blinked, looking up; he held his head in his hands, supporting it. Harry had noticed that, since the first few days of term, Damien had been acting quite tired. More so than normal; it was a little odd to see him on the verge of napping in lesson.

"As you have the ability to sleep," Moody kept his eyes on the boy, "Perhaps you'd like to name on of the three Unforgivable Curses?"

An excited mutter ran through the class; many of them weren't sure what those things were, but the foreboding name was enough to make them look forward to the lesson. Mad-Eye seemed to realize that; he gave a small, smug, satisfied smile.

"No," Damien shook his head meekly, wilting under the harsh gaze of Moody

"No…" Mad-Eye banged his wand on the table again; his voice was still harsh, but seemed to be expecting something.

"No sir," Damien looked down again. The student blinked a few times; evidently struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Perhaps you need a few less late nights," Moody muttered dismissively, pacing back to the front of the class.

The class looked around as the lesson truly began. They weren't sure what to expect: the start of the year had been delayed. There was no official explanation, but the gossip said something was wrong with Dumbledore; and due to the headmaster's lack-of-presence at every feast so far that year, it seemed to be correct.

By the time everyone had arrived at Hogwarts, the two other schools of students were already there. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. From the speech McGonagall had given, they sounded like they had a death wish, if they were entering that tournament.

Whatever the case, they were here.

"Can any of you name an Unforgivable Curse?" Moody interrogated the class.

Damien was struggling to stay awake; but he made sure to watch. Instead of resting his head in his hands, his hand and arms were limply resting on the desk, and his head rolled back, weary. His eyes seemed to have trouble staying open.

"Anyone?" Moody barked again.

Trembling somewhat, Ron raised a hand. Moody pointed at the redhead.

"Er," Ron said, tentative, "My dad told me about one…is it called the Imperius curse, or something?"

"Ah, yes," Moody nodded, grimly appreciative, "Your father would know that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius curse."

Heavily, Moody thudded over to the glass cases of black spiders. With his wand, he levitated one out from it, placing it down on the desk.

"_Imperio!_" he barked.

The spider tensed, legs suddenly jutting out. Then, without warning, it hopped up, scuttling, doing a lap of the desk, before moving onto the tables.

Ron shuffled away; the spider continued leaping from desk to desk, completely a back-flip as it ran over to Damien's desk.

The boy blinked a few times, slowly reacting, slumping away from the arachnid. Moody flicked his wand once, and the spider leapt up, running along Damien's arm. The student seemed repulsed by it; yet too tired to react.

About half a minute later, Moody grew bored of the 'game', and made the spider jump off Damien's weary head, spinning a web from beneath a desk, and somersaulting back to the front, and into the jar.

"Total control," Moody stated simply, watching the spider rolling around in the jar.

He continued to speak; but not all students were paying attention. Damien had fallen forwards, head resting ion his fore-arms, breathing softly. He'd fallen asleep.

Moody gave a disgusted look at the student, but didn't bother to wake him; instead, Mad-Eye looked at Neville: "Yes?" he gestured for Neville to suggest the next curse

"There's one," Neville shuddered, "The Cruciatus curse."

"Your name's Longbottom?" Moody stared intently at Neville, this time with both eyes: magical and non-magical.

Nervous, Neville nodded. Moody didn't comment, instead raising his wand once more, flicking another spider out of the jar. For a moment, his gaze flickered to the still Damien but, semi-reluctantly, he pointed his wand at the spider and cast: "_Crucio_!"

The spider's legs bent up on its body, the whole, tiny black creature shaking, evidently in agony. And yet that was not what caught everyone's attention. Everyone found themselves staring at Damien.

The boy had collapsed; falling out of his chair and off his table, and now lay, arms splayed across the floor. It was a little while before anyone noticed he wasn't breathing.


	3. Enemies

**So, here's the next chapter! I'll do my best to get the next few online quickly, but I've just got a couple of Classic Series Doctor Who DVDs, and they distract me very successfully. Hee, I'll try though!  
A little introduction to an original alien this chapter. Just a little introduction though.  
I hope you like it.**

"Draco!" a woman's voice called across the courtyard.

The Slytherin turned, gesturing away his 'friends' with a callous gesture. Leaving them behind, the blonde walked over to the corner of the courtyard. No one was at this side; except for one person, the woman, mostly concealed by shadow. Draco walked up to her; she retreated further into the darkness.

Unfaltering, Draco continued to approach her, moving just out of sight of everyone else.

The woman before him was an adult; her hair was long, brown and tangled, and over her face she wore an iron mask, hiding all of her features. She was garbed in a black robe; hiding her body.

"Draco Malfoy," she said, stating the words, yet sounding semi-sarcastic.

The blonde Slytherin frowned at her, unsure. What was she doing here? He didn't know who she was; but judging by that mask, she shouldn't be at Hogwarts.

"What do you want?" Draco curled his upper lip; a small, intended sneer, just to show her that she wasn't welcome.

"More than you can give me," the masked woman spoke almost neutrally, yet a snarl was audible behind her words

"Then why call me over?" Draco wasn't interested in the answer. Still, the stranger answered nonetheless.

"He commands it," a reverential tone was in her voice, before she began speaking harshly once more: "Maybe this job, you can do."

"What?" Draco's hand fell to his wand; cautious.

Something about this stranger put him off balance. Everything from her intonation to her actions seemed gauged to unsettle, and her purposefully unclear words designed to intrigue. He didn't trust people like that.

And the way she spoke too… She may as well have been speaking to insects; for all the kindness in her voice.

"Later," she muttered, irritable.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco demanded.

The Slytherin took a heavy, aggressive step towards the woman. Her head flicked down for a moment; eyes peering from the steel mask; a mask Draco still couldn't see clearly in the darkness.

A dismissive sputter fell from her lips. Almost casually, she flung her arm up, striking Draco's chin, hard, and making him stumble back. As soon as Malfoy straightened up, to look at the stranger, she'd vanished into the empty air.

O

The TARDIS was still sealed. The Doctor stood just outside it; leaning on a wall and looking forlornly at the extinguished light.

His ever-faithful time machine wasn't working. It stood, broken, and locked. The TARDIS key refused him access, but that wasn't all. The keys themselves had started to degrade; the teeth of the metal softening. Amy's had become perfectly smooth, and the Doctor's had almost faded that far.

They were part of the TARDIS. And something was wrong with the TARDIS.

He came here every day; unable to do anything except watch, look at the blue box. Feel the dissolving key. Run his hands over the external shell; cold, with little hint of the dimensions within.

Carefully, he ran a gentle finger over the lock. A sudden exhalation: it was smooth.

The Doctor knelt, frowning, beside the circle of metal. The lock too had degraded; the projected shell of the TARDIS simplifying itself, morphing. Instead of the complex locking mechanism, the lock had been erased totally.

There was no way inside. The TARDIS really seemed to be against any visitors.

"What's wrong with you, old girl?" the Doctor crooned, softly running a hand down the door.

Silence.

The dreary dungeons seemed the perfect setting. Shadow rested upon the blue box, a lifeless darkness fitting the seemingly lifeless time machine. Gloom matching gloom.

Closing his eyes, the Doctor pressed his forehead to the wooden door. A sigh.

"Please get better," his words were as full of emotion, as poignant as if he was speaking to a real person.

It may have been his imagination; yet he felt an answering thrum, a brief murmur from deep within the TARDIS.

Smiling, he opened his eyes, reluctantly moving back from the time machine after quite a few seconds.

"What could do this to you?" he frowned again, murmuring.

The tall box was impassive. Silent as if it were simply painted stone. Even just looking at it felt wrong: the details were smoother, the blue less defined, the words starting to blur, and there was a distinct lack of life.

Wrong. The whole thing was wrong.

Solemn again, the Doctor caressed the side of the blue; trying to give whatever comfort he could to the suffering machine. This time, the TARDIS was silent.

O

Moody sat in his Office, looking around at his collection of defensive items; meant to guard him against dark magic, or at least warn him of it.

He was scribbling down a few notes for upcoming lessons, when a gyroscope-like device started to spin. He peered up at it, irate: a sudden flash of light shot out from the top. There was a fizzle, a pop, and it fell on its side, unmoving.

Moody muttered a curse, knocking it off the table with a brutish backhand. It rolled along the floor, still in one piece, only useless.

A mirror implement behind him started to glow. Rolling his eyes, both of them, he looked at it; various shadows were moving about on the pearly glass. But there was one in particular; a featureless shadow; it looked defined, yet there were no notable features anywhere on the mass.

Grunting, Moody reached out, toughly tapping the frame of the mirror. His own face came into focus; the blackness hovering just above and behind him.

There was nothing there; just empty space.

Irritated, Moody looked back at the glass.

The darkness had gone. In the mirror, there were just the normal vague echoes, and the reflection of the room.

Muttering to himself, Moody looked around at the other Dark Detectors in his office; they were behaving much the same as normal now. One had overloaded on the desk, and the foe-glass seemed to be malfunctioning, but other than that, things were fine.

Suddenly another sneakoscope started to shake, active now, and alert.

Moody grunted once more, looking at the device, irritated at the spell of alerts. He moved over to the sneakoscope, as the door to his office opened.

"Hi Barty!" the Doctor grinned broadly, pacing into the room.

Moody span around sharply, ignoring the whistling of the sneakoscope to glare at the entrant.

"I'm not supposed to know that, am I?" the Doctor winced, "Can we just forget it?"

The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher continued to glare at the Doctor, distrusting. He'd just named the one secret he was trying to keep.

"Barty Crouch Junior," the Doctor shrugged, "I forgot we're not supposed to know that. I won't tell anyone if that helps."

Abruptly, Moody withdrew his wand, pointing it across the office at the Doctor: "How?" he barked

"Oh, don't ask," the Doctor paused, "I know a lot of things I'm not supposed to know. Gets me into trouble a lot of the time."

At the evasive answer. 'Moody' flung a curse across the room. The Doctor flicked his sonic screwdriver; a wave went out, purposefully disturbing all the energy which made up a spell. The curse dissipated in the air. Moody growled.

"You're a Death Eater who wants to resurrect Tom," the Doctor said conversationally, "No one's perfect. Look, if I was actually interested in exposing you, do you really think I'd come down here to talk to you?"  
"You talk enough," Moody muttered gruffly, taking a swig from his hip flask

"True," the Doctor paused for a moment, nodding.

A little silence. The sneakoscope was still whistling, shuddering on the desk, and one of the mirrors showed a very faint, featureless shadow.

"So, what're you here for?" Moody demanded, striking the ever-active sneakoscope with one fist

"Damien," the Doctor said simply, walking further into the office

It was like a switch had been thrown. Moody ceased banging on the Dark Detector, instead opting to stand up, facing down the Doctor from across the room.

"What about him?" he said, testy

"Barty, people don't just lose their life for no reason. And it was in your lesson," the Doctor replied

"Does it matter?" Moody slammed a fist down on the desk, "Not like he was anyone important."

It didn't seem possible; yet, the instant after Moody said those words, the Doctor had moved to the other side of the office. The Time Lord stood just centimetres from Moody, split seconds later, before he spoke; staring into the Death Eater's eyes.

"That's one thing you never say to me," the Doctor's voice was calm, even subdued, yet his words burned; "There is not one person who isn't important. Not one."

Silence. Moody's magical eye swivelled, staying focused on the Doctor.

"I don't know what it was," Moody stomped away, relenting, "He fell off his chair and died. Damn good thing if you want my opinion; he couldn't be bothered to stay awake for the lesson."

The Doctor pursed his lips; visibly affected by the false Moody's disregard for life.

"He couldn't stay awake," the Doctor murmured, "All his friends were saying it. Before your lesson; even on the train. They said he was drowsy, and he fell asleep easily. Just, he didn't wake up," the Doctor closed his eyes, wishing there was some way to know what was going on.

He couldn't think properly when the TARDIS was as damaged as it was. Knowing she was injured, paralyzed even, he couldn't think.

Could he help her? There was hardly a TARDIS medicine booth anywhere.

There had to be some way. There just had to be.

And what was causing it? Not much could harm his time machine: she was just too brilliant for that.

Was it linked to Damien?

"Have you seen anything odd?" the Doctor changed the subject quickly, urgent

"The mirror," Moody muttered, disinterested. He went back to planning the lesson, pointedly, and with the intent of insultingly, ignoring the Doctor. The Time Lord didn't really notice.

"What about the mirror?" the Doctor stepped forwards, looking at the named mirror

"It's called a Foe-Glass," Moody muttered, dismissive. "Saw something in it just now. Nothing was actually in the room."

Slowly, the Doctor looked from the mirror, to the Death Eater. Slowly, contemplative, he sat next to Moody.

"Tell me more," he said softly.

O

Cautiously, Amy treaded her way through Dumbledore's darkened Office. The Doctor had told the gargoyle the password, allowing her in for one quick visit. She was meant to look after the headmaster for now, while he was out investigating Damien and some mirror-shadow he'd heard mentioned.

The Doctor had spoken of a Foe-Glass: supposed to show a person's enemies, or at least those who'd do them harm, as silhouettes. Amy wasn't overly impressed by that; of course that teacher would have enemies, he was masquerading as Moody!

Still, it might be important. The Doctor and Rory were off talking to Moody and going through Hogwarts, step by step, with a Foe-Glass.

Maybe they'd find another unseen shadow: and maybe she'd help them later.

For now though, she was more concerned with the headmaster.

"Albus," she called out, tentatively.

_Albus._

The Voice replied with the croaking echo. Amy winced; she wasn't meant to speak. That would hasten it's possession of Dumbledore.

While the Doctor wasn't sure how well he could help, the Time Lord was fairly certain that, the further on the Voice was, the harder removal would be.

Carefully, Amy ran up to the still headmaster. Dumbledore was in the exact same position; his blue eyes still wide, staring forwards into empty air. Shaking at the sight of those solemn orbs, she stepped closer, kneeling beside him.

"Here you go," she murmured, forgetting her instructions once more, for a few sections.

The temptation to speak was almost seductive; maybe the Voice was affecting her mind, or maybe it was her brain, with the urge to comfort the headmaster. It felt irrational to say nothing to the weary Albus.

_Here you go_.

His lips moved in an almost mechanical pattern.

She fed him; she gave him water. Hardly a feast, hardly a great variety in food. Still, it was all they could do, until the Voice released Dumbledore.

Carefully, she moved away, a lone tear dripping from her cheek.

It was hard enough to be forced to look after the great Wizard in this manner; even harder when she couldn't even speak to him, couldn't give a single word of comfort, couldn't say a single thing to help.

Pearly white.

Amy span around suddenly, wiping her moist cheek. There was a pearly white echo in the air; almost gaseous, and drifting away, through the wall. A ghost.

Goosebumps rose along her skin; a ghost had been watching her.

With a last, miserable look at Dumbledore, Amy Pond began to leave the Office.


	4. Help When Needed

**A bit of an explanation this chapter. And something to add a little more realism to the story.  
In any case, enjoy!**

**Sorry in advance if Harry seems a little out-of-character towards the end. I was really struggling to write him, for some reason. **

"I am telling you, there is no choice in the matter!" Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, demanded. He stood in the Foyer of Hogwarts School, "I must speak with Albus Dumbledore."

"That is not possible, Minister," McGonagall stood a metre away from him, speaking calmly, but firmly.

The two stood opposite each other. Students were in lessons around now; hence why Fudge had chosen this time to visit. The two were alone; McGonagall resolute, facing the Minister, who stood just past the main gates.

"Not possible?" Fudge echoed, incredulous, "Minerva, a boy has died!"

"I am quite aware of that Minister," the teacher pursed her lips, "But the fact remains, you cannot see Dumbledore. I am the acting headmistress; I will be happy to help you in relation to any matters of school policy, but the headmaster must not be disturbed."

"Come now," the Minister of Magic sighed, "There has been a death: you cannot expect the Ministry to stand by."

"The Ministry is not in control of Hogwarts," Minerva retorted, frosty.

The two impassable forces stared at each other. Fudge was silent for a few seconds; exhaling slowly. He couldn't easily get McGonagall to relent, he knew that much; he just didn't understand why he wasn't allowed to speak to Dumbledore.

McGonagall also was silent; for she had nothing to say. She stood, arms held loosely at her sides, with enough presence to barricade the rest of Hogwarts, even from the Minister of Magic himself.

"I suggest you leave," Minerva McGonagall eventually spoke, once the silence had dragged on long enough. Her voice was cold.

"You know I won't. I'm here to talk about the death," Fudge was trying to be equally as resolute as McGonagall.

"I am acting headmistress," she spoke, "You will direct all inquiries to me."

"That's not good enough!" Fudge half-shouted. A timid, unpractised edge was audible in his voice, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it: "I could have you taken to Azkaban if you continue to obstruct the Ministry."

Minerva turned pale; yet she stayed where she was, unmoving. Protecting the possessed headmaster.

"That will, uh, not be necessary," a kindly, elderly voice sounded; drawing closer to the foyer.

Cornelius Fudge looked towards that corridor, relief on his face, McGonagall looked stricken with shock and almost-fear.

Striding along, gait mildly jerky, Albus Dumbledore came into view, stepping easily into the foyer. He looked around, blinking a few times.

Something was off: Dumbledore's voice carried less of the authority it normally held, and while it still bore that inherent kindness, there was a little missing; a little less twinkle in his eyes, a little more frustration, hesitation, in his tone.

Behind the impossible headmaster, Amy and the Doctor followed; carefully watching his steps, and occasionally, subtly, helping 'Dumbledore' move within his flowing robes.

"Er, okay," Fudge spoke again, pausing for a moment, unsure of what to make of the headmaster's odd reappearance. "Your headmistress wasn't letting me speak to you."

"A temporary measure," a ghost of a frown crossed the elderly man's face, "I wasn't feeling…myself. It's okay now Mc- Minerva."

"We'll discuss it later," the teacher had recovered enough composure to shoot an incredulous glare across the room.

A little silence, as the people surveyed each other. Amy, Doctor, Dumbledore, McGonagall and Fudge.

"Headmaster," Fudge began; "Damien Lowe died in one of your classes; under your protection. The Ministry wants to know what you intend to do."

Dumbledore, unusually, hesitated for a moment. He looked back at the Doctor; the Time Lord nodded, urging the headmaster on. Cornelius and Minerva noted the action, but decided to ignore it.

"I, ah," Albus hesitated, "I've decided to call in an expert, you know, being Head and all."

"I've heard nothing of this," Cornelius seemed almost indignant

"That would be because I'm not from the Ministry," the Doctor walked in front of the unsure Dumbledore, looking around and smiling broadly. "Hello, I'm the Doctor," he reached out and energetically shook the Minister's hand.

"You're the expert," Fudge stated, a little disbelieving

"Yep," the Doctor nodded

"On what?"

"The universe," the Doctor shot back, still grinning.

"And that gives you an expertise on the matter of Damien Lowe?" Fudge was distinctly unimpressed by the Doctor's eccentricity

"Yes," the Time Lord replied simply, before launching into another speech; "So, what were you told? That he was tired, kept falling asleep; and then he didn't wake up? Yes? Well, that's about right: only they didn't say why."

"You know why?" this time, McGonagall spoke, getting a word in before Fudge could speak.

The Doctor had spent the last day, with Rory, running around Hogwarts with Moody's Foe-Glass, seeking out shadows like the one Moody had mentioned seeing.

Apparently, there'd been one over the TARDIS.

Once he'd returned from the exploration, he'd locked himself away in Dumbledore's Office, still keeping the password a secret. Amy had exhausted every possibility from duck ponds to bow ties to fezzes, in an effort to guess the word.

Only now, it seemed, was he going to speak up about the strange foe. The redhead listened keenly; even Dumbledore took an ungainly, curious, step forwards.

"Life," the Doctor began, "At its most basic level, it's just an amalgamation of waves. Ooh, I like that word, amalgamation! Amalgamation! Well, there are some species which feed on that; they feed on the essence of life, draining it away from a victim. Sometimes it can be quick, sometimes it can take days: maybe weeks or months, depending on how alive the victim is."

The Time Lord paused for breath, looking from face to face. They were all listening, wondering.

"Amalgamation," he sung again, "Then there's one species, an incredibly, _incredibly _rare kind of leech; they're not physical at all, just a cloud of thoughts. Can't touch them, can't really sense them in any way, except of course, if you're reading those thoughts: like a Foe-Glass reads intent. You can't really say they're conscious, not in any real way: it's their nature, no, it _is _nature, a force of nature in itself. They float around, then latch on to someone, slowly draining life force from them."

By now, Fudge was nodding slowly, understanding. Amy was frowning; the Doctor had mentioned a shadow on the TARDIS. One of those…leech things was stealing the life energy of the TARDIS?

Carefully, she removed a TARDIS key from her pocket; the teeth were almost completely eroded, and it was softening. When she squeezed, a vague, visible imprint was left behind.

Not good.

"They find someone, and whoosh," the Doctor clapped his hands together, breaking the almost hypnotizing atmosphere, "It follows them around, non-stop. If you're tired, struggling to stay awake, then you've got less life in you: either it's a school-day, there's the Dream Lord hiding around the corner, or you've got one of those little things following you."

A moment of silence. The Doctor let his words sink in; he looked from Dumbledore, to Fudge, to McGonagall. All of them were serious; recognizing the danger he spoke of, and how it applied to Damien.

"So, they're kind of like outer-space stalkers?" Amy quipped, trying to break the solemn, noiseless atmosphere

"Exactly," the Doctor nodded enthusiastically. "Only a lot rarer; remember? I said they were very rare: only ever one or two in the same place at the same time."

"How many of these…'Stalkers' are at Hogwarts?" Fudge asked, trying to regain some semblance of understanding, trying to bring the conversation down to his own level.

"I think it's just the ones I found yesterday," the Doctor grinned uneasily

"Which was?" Fudge repeated his question.

A pause; then the Doctor replied in what was best described as an embarrassed croak: "Seven."

"Seven?" Fudge spluttered; "So much for rare! And how are we to get rid of these Stalkers?"

"That much I don't know," the Doctor shrugged; "I'm working on it."

With that, the Doctor's role was finished. He inherently figured it out; and stepped backwards, out of the main conversation, and behind Dumbledore, to the side of Amy. He watched as they continued.

The Minister for Magic stood still for a moment; ignoring the Doctor's oddness and the oddity of the explanation, focusing in on just his words, and the ideas and consequences therein.

"I must protest at this taking of an advisor," Cornelius eventually said, to Dumbledore, trying to move the subject to an area he understood.

"Oy! It's my castle, I am the headmaster," the man's words were very much unlike Dumbledore's, but the stuttering Fudge didn't seem to notice. "I can choose who advises me, and who doesn't."

"But-" Fudge began

"Can we continue some other time?" the 'headmaster' spoke, interrupting the Minister for Magic, "I need a lie down."

With the, in all honesty, awful excuse left behind, the man calling himself Dumbledore turned, stumbling his way out of the foyer. The Doctor, Amy and McGonagall followed; leaving Fudge alone in the foyer. It took the Minister a couple of minutes to regain his wits, and decide to leave.

"I think that went pretty well," 'Dumbledore' muttered, resting one arm on the corridor wall.

"Oh it did," the Doctor was grinning like a child, "Well done Rory!"

It was finally too much for Minerva McGonagall. She spoke, impatient and irritated.

"Would you kindly explain the meaning of this?" the teacher said, lips pursed, "The headmaster is, to my knowledge, unable to leave his office."

"Huh? No," the Doctor turned shaking his head; "Dumbledore's still in there. I couldn't cure him that quickly, sorry. We whipped up a batch of Polyjuice Potion quickly; it was the only way to get rid of Fudge, and we'll probably need it, for the Triwizard tasks at least."

Minerva froze for a moment; the wind had been taken from her sails by the Doctor's genuine apology/explanation.

"If the TARDIS was working," the Doctor mused, "We could probably get Michael Gambon to give it a go."

"I wasn't that bad!" Rory/Dumbledore protested, tripping over the hem of the headmaster's robes.

The Doctor coughed awkwardly, beginning to walk away. McGonagall followed; she had a lot more to say to the Time Lord.

Behind them, Amy moved up very close to the transformed Rory.

"I know you were talking about having children earlier," she murmured, "We're not trying until you stop looking like a bearded Kazran, ok?"

O

"Anything wrong?" Harry said.

The Boy Who Lived was sitting a little distance away from the blonde, pale, Draco Malfoy. They were in a relatively deserted stretch of corridor; it was an unwritten rule between them; they only met up in the less-frequented places.

The unorthodox friendship they'd struck up couldn't stand scrutiny. Or maybe it could; and they were afraid of knowing that.

"No," Draco shook his head, before sighing, relenting; "Maybe a little. Just freaked out; some woman I met earlier."

It was odd, Draco reflected. He hadn't been able to tell anyone this; now he was telling it to the boy who should be his enemy.

Come to think of it, maybe he was saying it _because_ Harry should be his enemy; you always cared more about what enemies thought of you, than what friends thought of you.

"Who?" Harry frowned.

"No idea," Draco muttered, "She wore some kind of iron mask."

"Iron mask?" Harry echoed, "That's a bit odd."

"Might not be iron," Draco admitted, "Some kind of metal though."

They were silent for a little time; unsure of what to say. They enjoyed each others' company, enjoyed meeting and talking, but so rare were their opportunities to do so, that they didn't always have much to discuss.

"What happened with that Damien?" Draco remarked

"I'd have thought you'd heard," Harry frowned, looking over at the Slytherin

"I have," Malfoy spoke, almost defensive, "Just, you were there. I want to know what actually happened."

"Ok "Harry muttered, casting his mind back. They weren't exactly happy memories; but the sudden shock of the student's collapse made it stay with him. "He was tired, and that's really it. Fell off his chair in the lesson; it was a while until they realized he was dead."

Draco hesitated, wincing. It didn't sound fun; there were worse ways to die, but with Damien, it seemed hard to notice what was wrong, until too late. If someone was tired, they could just not be getting enough sleep, or they could be in danger of whatever happened to Damien.

Not a pleasant thought.

"Things aren't going well for you this year, huh Potter?" Draco observed.

Inwardly, he was wondering why he wasn't amused. In the first year, he'd found it almost funny when Potter and his friends were in detention; yet from then, he'd been less sadistic. More, if he could say it, compassionate: more pitying.

"Huh?" Harry frowned. He hadn't really been paying attention; distracted by his memories.

"Damien, and the Triwizard thing," Draco elaborated, rolling his eyes in impatience. "Not a great year."

Harry nodded, shivering at the memory of the Goblet. The flaming chalice always made him jump, whenever fire had flared from it; seeing his own name come out of it was just unsettling.

"I wanted to talk about that," Harry spoke up, after a few seconds.

"Go on," Draco prompted

"Back in the Second Year, you know, Lellorian, you knew a lot of spells which we hadn't learnt," Harry hesitated, the word that best described him was shy; guilty almost at speaking, "Could you teach me some of them?"

Malfoy paused for a few seconds; he hadn't expected that. Maybe it was because he was too used to dealing with Slytherins, but not many people came to him for help.

"You don't have to," Harry rushed on, "Just, you've got a Wizarding family," Harry hesitated there, not sure as to what other adjectives to add or omit, "And Hagrid showed me the first task. It's dragons."

Dragons; Draco blinked. It definitely wasn't a good year for Harry.

"You uh- You don't have to. Hermione's teaching me too; it just sounds better if more people help." Harry stopped, unsure as to how much more he could or should say.

The blonde Slytherin tilted his head, appraising Harry for a moment.

"Sure," Malfoy shrugged, "Why not, Potter? Not like I've got anything better to do."


	5. Task

**Sorry this chapter took so long to go online. I finished it yesterday, and in almost the exact instant I finished it, my Internet crashed.  
So...yeah, very annoying.  
Enjoy! I'll try to get everything else done when I can.**

Amy was certain something was following her. Ever since Dumbledore's Office, that glimpse of pearly, incorporeal white; she'd seen flashes of it. Some kind of ghost; one she'd never seen the face of. Hiding in the walls, and around corners.

It was following her; and she wasn't sure what to make of it.

Hesitantly, she moved towards the empty classrooms, which had been commandeered by the Doctor to serve as accommodations. A glimpse of the ghost behind a statue.

Such sightings were almost commonplace now. And when she actually thought about it, she shivered. Even if she'd nicknamed the incorporeal aliens 'Stalkers', it was a bit too far to have a literal ghost stalker after her.

She occasionally span around, demanding the ghost explain itself. When she did, it had invariably hidden within the stone walls of Hogwarts, or within the floor; it kept itself hidden.

No matter how hard she tried, she'd never managed to glimpse its face.

She passed the Great Hall, during dinner; the Doctor insisted on getting meals delivered to his classroom. The TARDIS had been moved to that class, and he was reluctant to ever part with her; except for the times he absolutely had to, usually investigating reports of a Stalker.

Sadly, there was no easy way to see who was affected, and who wasn't. Tiredness was a symptom; but it didn't show up for quite a while, and it had many more causes. Moody's Foe-Glass was the only thing that worked; but even then, it didn't help remove the Stalker. There had been two more deaths, a Slytherin and a Hufflepuff, since Damien: both people seen to bear a Stalker, yet the Doctor could do nothing to save them.

The Stalkers continued to feed from them. The Doctor could just watch.

Fudge had visited a few more times; Rory-as-Dumbledore had confronted the Minister, with the Doctor, spouting rehearsed techno babble that, Amy suspected, was just made up on the spot.

Rory was spending more tiem looking like Dumbledore than he was looking like himself, nowadays. Even now, he played the headmaster at dinner; subterfuge known only to senior teachers, such as Heads of Houses.

All the while the TARDIS grew weaker.

Nervously, as she always was, Amy took out her TARDIS key. Tentatively, she looked at it; she didn't want to do that often, it was scary to see the effect on the normally invulnerable time machine.

The key had lost its shine; it was a dull grey, the rounded head was splotchy, rough and thinner, and the end normally inserted into the lock had shrunken in a great deal. It was hard to believe it had ever been a key.

"Hey Doctor," she murmured her customary greeting, walking into the classroom.

The Time Lord sat, cross-legged facing the TARDIS. He murmured something unintelligible in response to Amy; gaze fixed firmly on the TARDIS.

"There's a couple more Slytherins being Stalked," Amy said, sadly, using her coined term for 'possessed by a Stalker'.

"More?" the Doctor looked around, aghast. Then, solemn in a split second, he looked back at the TARDIS.

"Moody said so," Amy fell silent; feeling guilty as she watched the Doctor's silent rest.

Again, she took out her key, examining the mangled, soft metal. She closed her eyes briefly; before looking over at the exterior of the TARDIS. The words along the top had more or less faded, and the ridges were slightly less pronounced.

"What's happening to it?" Amy murmured, hushed

"Her, not it," the Doctor replied quickly, before stopping, and thinking: "Sorry, that was a bit rude, wasn't it?"

"A bit," Amy echoed

The Doctor's face fell; he didn't look at Amy, instead opting to watch the faded blue box as he spoke.

"The Stalker's draining power," his voice was a monotone, "She's surviving, but there's less power going to the systems. Including the boring old chameleon circuit; she's simplifying the outer shell."

"Is it just me," Amy mused, "Or does it look bigger?"

At that, the Doctor's eyes snapped up. He stood up, pacing from one corner of the TARDIS, to the next. Frowning, he stepped along the same side again.

"Oh I'm thick!" he smacked a hand to his forehead, "Really thick. It just couldn't be that simple, could it?"

Amy was a little alarmed by his sudden outburst, and hesitated before speaking again; "That's not good, is it?"

"Not really," the Doctor winced, "If she runs out of power than the dimensions will match up."

"It'll stop being bigger on the inside?" Amy guessed, parting the techno babble. The Doctor nodded. She continued speaking, dread pooling in her stomach as she instinctively felt that she was wrong: "It'll shrink?"

"Nah, too easy," the Doctor slumped. "She'll grow. Interior mapped onto exterior; the exact same size."

Silence. Amy shuddered, as she thought of how much was contained within the blue box.

"Just how big is the TARDIS?" She mused

"You know," the Doctor looked up, thoughtfully, "I really don't know."

They lapsed into silence. The threat of the TARDIS expanding fully pretty much extinguished any chance for discussion. While neither knew the complete size it would take, it was obvious that the size would be titanic.

Hogwarts would be torn apart. And if the Doctor's memories were right, maybe even the Earth was under threat.

O

"Hey, Potter!" Draco called, darting back behind a wall.

Harry frowned; looking sideways. The blonde was a little distance away; Harry rushed up to him. The Boy Who Lived was garbed in the attire given to him for the First Triwizard task.

"Good luck," Draco murmured, a little embarrassed at the clichéd phrase

"Thanks," Harry nodded with genuine gratitude. "I hope your flying lessons come in handy."

"They will," Draco said confidently; "You're a natural. Remember? You outran me with your first time on a broom." Strange to think how he could laugh at that memory; at the time he'd burned with bitterness.

"Thanks," Harry said again, nodding. He shot a nervous look towards the stadium; it was close to starting.

"Go on then," Draco gestured dismissively, "Don't keep the dragons waiting."

O

The Doctor wasn't interested in the First Task. It was really just a bunch of dragons; and he'd seen them before. Albeit on much less friendly terms.

He was in Dumbledore's Office. Amy walked past, with Rory (still looking like Dumbledore), on the way to the Task. She'd tried to guess the password, her seeming hobby recently, yet had not succeeded.

The Doctor was momentarily relieved. She'd said something he'd seriously considered, for a while: "Fish fingers and custard."

Passwords aside, he trod lightly closer to the possessed headmaster, through the darkened office.

The curtains were drawn; the lights were dimmed. Initially, apparently, it was done to hide Dumbledore, though the Doctor had soon insisted they continue. He wasn't sure; he knew next to nothing about the Voice, but it lived under the lethal sunlight of Midnight. Maybe the Sun strengthened it; in any case, it wasn't worth the risk.

If only he knew something for certain.

"Hello!" he called out, fully aware that it would echo his voice.

Sure enough, seconds later, it spoke. _Hello._

The Time Lord walked around a book case, kneeling just in front of the paralyzed Dumbledore. Wide, blue eyes stared out at him. They seemed almost to tremble.

"I know you're going to keep repeating me," the Doctor began, "So let's make a deal, huh? You seem to like words, I can give you a few crackers. Like, amalgamation!" he grinned at having the chance to say it again.

_I know you're going to keep repeating me. So, let's make a deal, huh. You seem to like words. I can give you a few crackers. Like amalgamation._

Dumbledore's forced voice was devoid of any spark of life or originality. It broke the Doctors' hearts just to hear it.

"Can you say anything yourself?" the Doctor closed his eyes, in pity, reaching out one hand to tenderly touch the headmaster's cheek.

_Can you say anything yourself._

The Doctor opened his eyes as the echo was completed. He looked deep into the pale sea of Dumbledore's eyes. Somewhere, deep within them, he hoped Albus looked back.

"Is there anything you want? Any way I can help?" the Doctor's voice could almost be construed as begging.

_Is there anything you want. Any way I can help._ The Voice sounded almost mocking.

Silently, the Doctor hoped his theory was right; this Voice wasn't the exact same as the one on Midnight. It might share a few memories; but it was much younger, and severely injured, healed only by the borders of a regeneration not meant for it.

Hopefully that would make its advance slower.

Hopefully.

"You don't have to do this," the Doctor spoke again, "You can choose, can't you? Please, choose someone else: he's a good man, the greatest maybe. And he's needed; he's helping everyone in Hogwarts, or he would be: and he saves the boy who saves the world, just next year. Please, if you can hear me, listen! Let Dumbledore go; this isn't necessary."

Tears could be heard in the Doctor's voice; even if not seen in his eyes. The Time Lord exhaled softly, both hands lightly clasping the headmaster.

Breath caught in Dumbledore's throat, as if resisting something, and then-

_You don't have to do this._ The Voice was smug; the rasp it forced from Dumbledore's throat seemed to take pleasure in tormenting the Doctor. _You can choose, can't you. Please, choose someone else, he's a good man, the greatest maybe, and he's needed. He's helping everyone in Hogwarts, or he would be, and he saves the boy who saves the world, just next year. Please, if you can hear me, listen. Let Dumbledore go. This isn't necessary._

The Doctor did note one thing, though he didn't know what to make of it; this Voice took much longer to repeat a phrase than the other.

"What do you want?" the Doctor murmured, running his hands through his hair and messing it up further. _What do you want. _The Time Lord kept his eyes focused on Dumbledore's. "I can take you home," the Doctor continued; "Back to Midnight, diamond world, whatever you call it. Just please, let Dumbledore _go_," before he finished speaking, the Voice's echo sounded.

It was improving; reacting with greater speed. Not synchronized yet, still a few seconds out, but closer.

_Just please let Dumbledore go._

O

Far from the darkened office, the arena in which the First Task was due to take place, was alight with magic and sun. Most of the students had flung spells into the air, indicating support for their own Schools.

These were quickly erased by teachers, as the tournament began. In one box, the teachers sat; a few students noticed how jumpy Dumbledore appeared. It was an odd state of mind for the normally solemn Head, but they ignored it, distracted by the dragons.

And then came Harry's turn, against the most ferocious beast.

Rory watched intently; subconsciously linking hands with Amy, who sat beside him. The few teachers who were unaware of Rory's Polyjuice Potion look at him oddly; the Ponds ignored them, watching as Harry cried out some unheard spell.

"I remember this bit in the books," Amy murmured to her husband.

"I still haven't managed to read them," Rory confessed. "Never had the time. Which is odd actually. You wouldn't expect to run out of time in a time machine."

They were silent for a few more seconds; a broomstick shot through the air, nearing Harry. Accompanied by a great cheer from a few Gryffindors, Harry sat atop the Fire-bolt, shooting up through the air.

Several teachers leant back, instinctively backing away from a huge bout of flame, from the dragon's scaly maw. Harry expertly dodged it, circling the dragon, moving for the small, golden egg.

"Ahem," McGonagall cleared her throat, to Rory's side. "Headmaster," her voice carried the impression of speaking to the true Dumbledore remarkably well

"Yes?" Rory looked at her, speaking a little to abruptly for Albus

"Am I correct in thinking I will be putting forward your score once more?" she asked.

As a headmaster, Dumbledore was expected to spell the number with which he rated a Champion's task, into the air. As a Muggle, Rory was unable to do so; and in consequence, Minerva McGonagall had taken that role.

The story they were using was something linked to the plague of tiredness, followed by death, running through Hogwarts: caused by the Stalkers. They were purposefully vague, quite naturally. Apparently 'Dumbledore' was finding it harder to concentrate, and so his judgement should not be trusted in matters such as the Triwizard tournament. Rory was a little indignant at the cover.

"Of course, yeah," Rory nodded. Amy couldn't quite suppress a cringe at her husband's acting; there was a reason he went into medicine rather than acting.

Someone else was watching the task. A woman, in a black robe; one that concealed much of her form. Tangled hair fell down, framing a black, metal mask. Wild, wide eyes could be seen; and that was all. Bars of metal covered her mouth; though she could still, easily speak.

Insane eyes glared at the darting, weaving Harry. If hatred could burn, Harry would be little more than a cinder, consumed by flame more intense than the dragon's infernal breath.

She lifted her wand.

"_Cr-_" a choked curse began to form on her lips, an overwhelming wrath forcing itself into her mind.

In the teachers' box, the shady figure was noticed; a person hidden in the arena, just to the sides, the tunnels by which official people move din and out. When the task was in progress, no one should be there.

It was Snape who was the first to act.

"_Expelliarmus,_" the basic disarming charm was muttered; an unnoticed jet of light shot through the air, striking the woman before she could complete her curse.

She looked around once; snarling indiscriminately at the box.

She caught her own wand; it had flown into the arena. For one split second, it appeared as if she were in two places; vanishing in one, and reappearing in the other, catching the magical implement.

And then she was gone; her exit heralded by cheers as Harry succeeded in grabbing the golden egg.


	6. Tragedy

**Sometimes chapters can be hard to write, because you don't want them to happen... This is one of those.  
I did try and fit in a little humour. But please don't hate me for the rest! **

Nearly-Headless Nick glided through the corridors of Hogwarts School. He passed the hourglasses outside the Great Hall, and continued moving, casually drifting through a great, stone wall.

He drifted to Gryffindor Tower: as the ghost of that House, he understandably felt closer to it. It was easy to pass through the portrait, letting him drift further, looking around over the House; younger years and older years alike, all working, or relaxing, or chatting.

As he passed them, Nick nodded, or bowed his head, taking it almost off his neck.

A few of the more innocent First Years, who hadn't seen his trick before, shied away; a few of the older students just cheered.

Minutes later, he'd drifted to a lonely corridor. Lessons had started; taking from him the little company, the little entertainment he had, as a ghost.

"Oh, hello," he remarked casually, to another pearly white ghost.

"Hello Nick," the ghost responded, tiredly, "Before you ask, she's with the Doctor."

"You're not ready yet?" Nick shook his head slowly, hovering gently above the ground. "You have been following her around for an extraordinary time."

"It's not time yet," the stranger shook his head, translucent face immeasurably sad.

The ghosts continued; wordlessly. Nick drifted past the grey man, bowing his head sideways by pulling on his hair. The man nodded once, giving a brief, amused smile.

"Oh, and I'm sorry," he shook his head once, genuinely sad.

Nick turned at that, surprised at the odd statement. Yet, by then, the phantasm had gone; vanished through the walls of Hogwarts.

For a brief, indecisive, moment, Nearly-Headless Nick considered following the other ghost; yet he decided against it. They'd meet again, sometime, probably: and centuries as an insubstantial spirit taught you patience.

Nick continued to drift, as lessons began to end. For a few seconds, he rippled; his grey flesh shaking almost imperceptibly. There was no noticeable cause; and indeed, even Nick shook it off. One moment's hesitation, and then he continued.

One long passage. The Gryffindor House ghost began to move down it, hearing the distant clamour of students finally leaving lessons. Murmurs and footsteps.

One of them turned a corner, leaving the rest of the tumultuous crowd, anxious to be alone. He stopped as he saw Nick; the only other occupant of the corridor.

Draco Malfoy stepped closer, frowning. Nick had stopped moving; he was frozen in midair, as if he was a photo.

An instant later, almost mechanically, Nick turned around, pale eyes more ghostly then ever, smooth, featureless, and his clothes sere a smudged grey.

"Most extraordinary," the words fell from his lips, forced, yet truly awed.

And then he dissolved to smoke. Silver and grey floated and drifted away, the form of the ghost fading into no more than gas. Those two words were his last; cracking and also dissolving to steam.

Draco watched, aghast. Nick was a ghost; and even the ghost of Gryffindor evoked pity, of sorts, from the Slytherin. Ghosts were already dead; they didn't deserve to die again. They couldn't; they shouldn't.

The smoke that was once Nearly-Headless Nick faded further, to transparent nothingness.

Draco stared up, blinking just once, at the should-be impossible spectacle.

O

"What'd we know about the Stalkers?" Amy said, shrugging, as she sat in the empty classroom.

"Are we sticking with that name?" the Doctor looked around at her.

His face was pained; unsurprisingly so. The TARDIS rested on the ground, just behind him. The blue door was no longer there; the outer shell was featureless, and the vibrant blue was fading. The corners were just about there; yet growing smoother, and almost all detail had been removed from the once-magnificent time machine.

It was a box. The same shade of dull blue all over; and the entire surface perfectly flat, the top being little more than a hemisphere. All the edges also held the same, rounded pattern: giving the impression of something within bulging, trying to get out.

It was at least half a metre wider than it should be. The dimensions were failing; soon it would expand enough to engulf Hogwarts, and possibly more.

"If you can stick with bow ties," Amy retorted, taking a few seconds too long to respond, affected by the plight of the TARDIS, "Then I can stick with calling them Stalkers."

"Fine," the Doctor rolled his eyes, acting irritated.

It was obviously a façade. His voice cracked; with the injured TARDIS, he seemed incapable of feeling any real emotion.

"What do we know?" the Doctor repeated, frowning. "They're mental. Well, they're thought-based, not physical. So kind of mental. A galaxy's worth is clustered in Hogwarts, which really shouldn't happen, and there's no way to detect them. Well, there shouldn't be any way, but I like cheating; there's Moody's Foe-Glass. And I think that's about it. Hardly an amalgamation of ways," the Time Lord grinned at getting the chance to fit in the word.

"That was awful," Amy groaned, "You can't say that in every sentence, Doctor."

"Why not?" the Doctor seemed genuinely hurt.

Amy didn't bother to respond. She was too distracted.

"And this Voice?" she murmured, thinking.

Stalkers were beings made up purely of thought. And the Stalkers possessed…

"I told you," the Doctor frowned; "Repetitive, controls people, and knocks on the outside of buses. Not four times though, so that's good."

Amy hesitated, not certain whether or not she should speak. She was thinking of something; and it was something that could very well work.

"Do they speak?" she said

"Who?"

"The Stalkers," she paused for a moment, before her suggestion tumbled from her lips; "Because if they do, you know, if the Stalkers speak at all, would the Voice hear? Then Dumbledore would repeat them, and we'd find them easily."

The Doctor seemed about to speak, looking at Amy. His expression dissolved into a broad grin; only marginally offset by the straining, damaged TARDIS behind him.

O

"Here you go," the Doctor hopped into the TARDIS, where the temporarily Rory-looking-Rory sat.

Mr Pond was taking a break from his pretence at being Dumbledore; the Second Task was due soon, and Dumbledore was supposed to be conversing with all the other teachers. McGonagall had taken over that role, and the Heads of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had been told that something was wrong with Dumbledore; they were not treated to any details, only informed of the ailment, to explain away Albus' lack of appearances.

The Time Lord, having just bounded into the TARDIS, slapped a few pages of typed text, just next to Rory.

"From old Mikey," the Doctor explained, still grinning.

"Mikey?" Rory frowned, peering at the text, "Wait, Michael Gambon?"

"Yep," the Time Lord shrugged, "Apparated to meet him; he gave me this, a set of instructions for pretending to be Dumbledore. All I had to do was get him a part in some TV show at Christmas," the Doctor sat himself down, perky, just opposite Rory. "Well hurry up, read it! There may be a test later."

O

Nick was dead.

The news had spread, and a solemn silence had taken hold over the whole of Gryffindor tower. Their House ghost had been, kind of, a mascot; a friend to almost all of them. And he wasn't supposed to depart.

Harry found his way to a seat, by the window of the dormitory. No one spoke to him; the only speech there, was in the hushed voices of comfort and respect, among sombre students. Even Fred and George seemed withdrawn.

"Hey Harry," Ginny said softly, drifting over to him.

"Hi," he nodded back

Shell-shocked would be a good word. Whenever anyone close dies, humans automatically feel a wrenching sensation; as if it was impossible. As if they couldn't die. And in Nick's case, he really couldn't die.

"Sorry," the Weasley sister seemed shy; "It's the Doctor again. He told me to."

"Again"? Harry seemed amused. At least, as amused as his state of mind would allow. "He seems obsessed with getting you to talk to me."

"Yeah," Ginny mumbled.

Silence for a few seconds. The Doctor burst into the Tower at one point, not speaking to anyone in particular, just walking around, muttering to himself. He peered at people, a small, green, buzzing glow emanating from his hand occasionally.

He muttered something about ghosts having a little life force, and about it being stolen. That was all Harry let himself hear; it was about Nick, and no one could listen to that without some degree of trepidation, or even fear.

"Something's wrong, "Ginny murmured, before blushing and turning away

"Huh?" Harry peered at her

"Um, it's true," she seemed unsure of herself, "First you end up in the Triwizard, then McGonagall scores at the task, and now…Nick," her voice faded away as she mentioned the ghost.

Draco had said very similar things; Harry couldn't help noticing that, yet Ginny was the one who pieced more together. She connected all the odd events; maybe they were unrelated, yet it was certainly true that a great many odd things were happening.

"The Triwizard might be unconnected," she mused, muted, "It doesn't feel right. But everything else has to be linked somehow."

The redhead sighed softly; embarrassed as she said her thoughts.

"Might be," Harry said, trying to comfort her. He took her hands gently in his own; "We don't know."

"I just want to do something about Nick," she looked away; "I'm not a planner, I don't do this kind of thing. I just want to help; and I don't think I can."

"Ginny," Harry murmured, thinking desperately.

Strangely, annoyance didn't so much as touch his mind. He was anxious to try and help: what would make her feel better? Then he remembered; the perfect thing, for both of them.

"Ginny?" the Boy Who Lived said, tentatively. For some reason, his mind eagerly suggested it; his mouth just wouldn't follow through.

"Mm," Ginny looked up; sobbing quietly

"Do you want to go to the Yule Ball?" he spoke, doing his best to keep his tone level; muffling the wild emotions he felt inside.

The redhead blinked at him, surprised, before looking down, apologetically ashamed.

"I can't," her sobbing had stopped; however, her voice wasn't much happier. "I'm already going with Neville."

A moment of silence; Harry found himself feeling genuinely upset. Even though he'd concocted the idea as a way to cheer her up, he'd found himself genuinely wanting it.

"Not to worry," at the exact moment when Harry was about to speak again, the Doctor butted in to the conversation, having evidently been eavesdropping. "Neville's going with someone else."

"Huh?" Ginny looked sideways, frowning.

"A Ravenclaw!" the Time Lord sounded a lot like he was just making things up. "Yes, a Ravenclaw called…Luna! Luna! She's in this book isn't she?"

Harry and Ginny, hands still unconsciously linked, both blinked at the Doctor's odd monologue.

"I can try to help, can't I?" he seemed almost hurt that they weren't ecstatic. Or at least; that they weren't expressing it.

O

"_Crucio!_" the harsh, strangled spell was uttered, pure, unadulterated malice in the speaker's voice.

She held her wand high; tip curled and pointing down at a small, writhing frame. It was a house-elf; squeaked cries echoing through the air.

They were deep within the dungeons of Hogwarts; and his voice was lost into the stone walls. From behind the metal mask, the elf's torturer glared, unrelenting.

She didn't have any reason to stop. No, that wasn't right: she didn't _want _to stop.

Yet stop she did, momentarily straightening her wrist, releasing the house-elf from the excruciating spell. For a split second, she allowed it to regain its breath. And then she stepped smoothly, almost gracefully, over the stone floor, until she was centimetres from the elf, bodies close enough to touch, if she didn't see, so repulsed by it.

"Dobby," she hissed, her dark eyes glaring out from her mask; burning into the wide, cricket-ball eyes of the house-elf. "You know about Hogwarts. Tell me."

Dobby the house-elf bravely shook his head once more, resolutely laying on the cold stone; paralyzed by some spell of the woman's.

She jabbed her wand as if it were a blade; pressing it into the papery skin at the elf's throat. "Again," she demanded, her voice a cruel shout. "Answer," her voice was building to an unknown crescendo.

Dobby didn't speak; yet he could not suppress a squeak.

"_Crucio!_" the woman screeched once more, sending pain coursing through the house-elf. He squeaked futilely; shuddering beneath the merciless woman's wand.

Weak cries echoed off stone walls. Lost. The woman grinned in sadistic pleasure, from behind the mask, exhaling with an almost feral snarl.

"Elf!" she shouted again, momentarily lapsing, pointing her wand away, "Will you speak?" It was barely a question. She seemed to want Dobby to say no; just so she could continue.

Dobby once more, valiantly, shook his head. The woman parted her lips for a brief, savage grin; just visible through the metal bars over her lips, on the metal mask.

"_Crucio!_" the house elf's screams touched her ears, as if they were the most sublime music imaginable. She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly, blissfully.

Footsteps.

Irritated, she opened one eye, lessening the intensity of the curse, so as to reduce the screaming and hear the steps. Yes, someone was definitely coming.

"You just won't break," she looked at Dobby, frustrated. The steps grew closer.

With an expression of boredom, almost regret, she flicked her wand, levitating the house-elf into the air. She stabbed her wand forwards, forcing it into Dobby's throat, with one shout: "_Legilimens!"_

One second past. An assortment of images ran in front of her eyes; and she found what she was looking for. A dismissive smile curled her lips; and she dropped the house-elf, throwing him across the room.

A man with long, black, greasy hair walked into the dungeon room. Upon seeing the woman, he instantly raised his wand, prepared to throw a curse-

The woman flicked her wand up, a small motion and a simple spell, yet she did it with relish. A jet of light was repelled, and scattered through the dungeon.

"You've ruined my fun, Severus," she spoke with a hiss; yet her mannerisms were almost child-like, mocking.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" she pointed her wand at Dobby; Snape moved to fire another curse at her, yet by the time the green light had faded, she was gone. Dobby lay motionless on the floor.


	7. Having A Ball!

**A great deal of this chapter may be summarized as: I just couldn't resist. Hee, hopefully you'll enjoy it too.  
After last chapter, I think we all need a bit of cheering up. This one's quite a bit longer than the other chapters; and it might be a little serious towards the end, but other than that, enjoy the happy-stuff!  
Also, well done if you can spot the reference to the Comic Relief special! I'm quite impressed with it, considering this is being uploaded before the special is on.**

The white ghost watched. He had concealed himself within a wall; his incorporeal body easily resting inside the stone. The sensation wasn't altogether pleasant, yet it could not be called uncomfortable.

He watched the three travellers talk among themselves: Rory (for once not appearing as Dumbledore), Amy, and the Doctor. The Yule Ball seemed to be the main topic.

The ghost nodded in sad remembrance; he had been present at the last Yule Ball in Hogwarts. It had been more an occasion of tragedy than one of celebration; even though it was Christmas, a Champion had died on the previous task. That hung over the proceedings, like smog.

Nick's death had a similar effect; the garish decorations were muted somewhat, lessened by the tragedy. The students had yet to flock in, but they were still starting to move towards the Great Hall, for the Ball.

"She's my wife, Doctor," Rory said, looking between the Time Lord and the redhead

"Yes, but I've got no one to dance with," the Doctor looked downcast, "And I'm the important one."

"I'm _Dumbledore_," Rory retorted, mildly incredulous

"Not at the Ball," the Time Lord said quickly; "You're a Muggle, remember? Muggles have never taken Polyjuice before, we don't know what the effect will be."

"You tell me now?" Rory rolled his eyes; "I still think I should be allowed to dance with my wife."

"But-" the Doctor began

"Perhaps we should get two of me again?" Amy suggested

"No," Rory and the Doctor said in the same instant.

"Oh," the redhead looked momentarily upset; "Well, can I at least choose?"

"Ok," the Doctor said, standing up and straightening his bow tie. Rory looked across, nodding once, tentative.

"Well," Amy hesitated, "I choose Rory," she hopped over to her husband, and linked arms with him, "I'd really rather not dance with a drunk giraffe."

"A stylish drunk giraffe," the Doctor quickly said; affronted by the insult to his dancing skills.

Smiling, the ghost watched; amused by the spectacle. For a moment, his gaze dwelled on the married couple; and then it drifted to the Doctor.

"Who should I dance with then?" the Time Lord sighed.

Grinning further, the ghost turned his head even more; now looking at the door which lead to the foyer. It was something he'd set up some time ago; while Harry's father was still in Hogwarts.

The doors opened; and a woman stood in them, dressed in a decent approximation of an adult witch's robes, shaded a bluish grey, with the pointed hat held in one hand, to her side. A black wrist-strap was tied around one arm.

"Hello sweetie," River Song smiled lightly. She extended one gloved hand; "Care to dance?"

The ghost couldn't suppress a sudden chuckle at the Doctor's face. And with that, he regretfully drifted further back, hiding deeper in the walls. Amy had turned to look at him; and that was one thing he couldn't bear. Not yet.

"What are you doing here, River?" the Doctor said, after several stunned seconds. His voice was almost hoarse

"Just hopping somewhere," she tapped the vortex manipulator on her wrist, but other than that, she was purposefully vague. And it seemed that she was enjoying leaving all the little teasers.

"Lupin said he knew you," Amy suddenly piped up; "Why?"

River turned to her, smiling. She and the Doctor spoke the same word, together: "Spoilers."

Amy rolled her eyes; "Should've guessed that was coming."

"Why are you here?" the Doctor asked, voice still full of emotion; though what emotion, wasn't clear. It could have been relief, curiosity, or irritation. Or something else.

"I told you," River stepped forwards. "It's the Yule Ball. Do you want to dance, Doctor?" she seemed intentionally flirtatious; the Doctor stuttered on the spot for a moment.

Amy and Rory stepped back together; leaving the Doctor to stutter through his conversation. They smiled at each other; amused.

Amy could recall the Doctor acting similarly a while ago; just after the last time they'd met River, when they'd returned to Earth, just before Rory travelled with them. Of course, it wasn't a story she wanted to mention again; at least, not with Rory just steps away.

Eventually the Doctor stuttered out a response: "Does anyone have a gas mask?"

Amy and Rory frowned at him; River smiled, knowingly.

"The children aren't there every time you dance, Doctor," she commented, bemused by his awkwardness.

The Time Lord looked around, hasty, almost frightened. Following that, he straightened his jacket and bow tie; "Yes, well, that's good," he hesitated.

The ghost had returned; and his pale eyes watched from the wall still, even if he couldn't let them see him, he needed to see them. It was a comfort, of sorts.

Confident that the Doctor was eventually going to stutter out a 'yes', the ghost drifted away. Time to stop risking things; he couldn't be seen.

Outside the hall, the pairs attending the Yule Ball were beginning to find each other, the Champions all moving to the foyer outside the Hall.

Harry was indeed going with a grateful, smiling Ginny; Neville had instead been encouraged by the Doctor to ask the Ravenclaw Luna Lovegood. The Ravenclaw was unlikely to attend otherwise. Viktor Krum had gone with a Beauxbatons of whom the ghost didn't know the name; Hermione had instead been taken by Ron, and the ghost was fairly sure the Doctor had engineered that as well. Cho and Cedric were together; as were Fleur and Roger Davies.

Other than them, the ghost travelled through the castle, mostly ignored: his gaseous frame meant the students simply thought of him as a ghost, one of the many unknown in the castle; and he noticed several other pairs gradually finding each other. Draco however was wandering through the corridors, alone. It was not due to any lack of invites; he seemed simply uninterested.

The ghost watched the Slytherin ascend the stairs, and enter the Slytherin Common Room. The ghost didn't follow in there; that was Slytherin, he didn't really get along with Slytherins.

He noticed a swirl of black; a woman in a metal mask strode along the corridor, robes billowing out behind her. He shuddered, recoiling and hiding inside the wall once more.

She entered the Common Room; a room now mostly empty, save for the sleeping lower Years; the upper Years were mostly at the Ball.

"What do you want?" Draco's voice came out of the slowly shutting portrait, irritated.

The ghost quickly moved away; he was already reasonably sure that Draco wouldn't be harmed by her, and that woman gave him the chills. With good reason.

O

The band struck up a joyful note; and the Yule Ball began.

In the centre, the Four Champions began to move with their partners; Ginny and Harry somewhat awkwardly, though they soon fell into step.

Dumbledore wasn't there; instead, Rory and Amy sat by a table, waiting until it was a more prudent time to begin. River and a tentative Doctor sat nearby; a triumphant expression on River's face.

McGonagall stepped forwards to dance, her partner being Ludo Bagman, one of the Triwizard judges. It was a partnership made more by necessity than choice. Still, it served as incentive; after a few bars of the Champions alone, the couple joined in, and following that, most of the pairs there began to move.

Eagerly, Amy pulled Rory to his feet with one hand; she lead him to the main body of the dance floor, soon starting to dance to the lively music, moving close with one step, and parting again, hands still linked. They were lost in the throng of excitedly dancing students. The Doctor and River watched.

"Why are you here, River?" the Doctor spoke, in a semi-croak, repeating his old question.

"You should know better," River teased, "You're the one who warned me about spoilers, even if you were just talking about books."

"Which books?" the Doctor perked up; "It's always books with you, huh?"

"Hardly," River laughed, "I haven't even managed to get to the Library world yet.

The Doctor winced. Better not continue that line of discussion.

"Care to dance?" River asked once more, holding out an open hand to the Time Lord; "That's why I'm here."

"You crossed centuries of time and an awful lot of space, just to have a dance?" the Doctor frowned, sceptical; "I don't quite believe that."

"I was in the area," River shrugged, "I was only a few years away. Couldn't resist dropping in."

"And what were _you _doing in Hogwarts?"

"Spoilers," River gave her customary reply, looking away for a moment. "Now, are we going to dance, or do I have to start threatening the bow ties?"

"You wouldn't," the Doctor said, aghast.

River only looked at him, tilting her head. Then, casually, she reached out and, in a split second, slipped her finger into the fabric, and pulled. The bow tie fell loosely from the Doctor's collar, into her palm.

Tense, the Doctor couldn't bear to look. River simply raised her eyebrows. She withdrew a sonic blaster from within her robes, and pointed it at the unravelled bow tie.

"Where were you hiding that?" the Doctor said, frowning despite himself. River's robes didn't have any pockets he could see; and they were fairly tight around her waist. There didn't seem to be any way she could hide it.

"A trick a Time Agent taught me," she shrugged, twirling the blaster. "Now, are you going to dance? I shot the fez; you know I can do it to the bow tie."

"Bow ties are cool," the Doctor replied instinctively.

"Right," River sighed. She fired her blaster once.

The noise of the discharge was muffled by the sound of the crowd of dancing students, and the music. No one paid any mind to the fact there was a strange woman holding a lethal looking gun; she was near the Doctor, and they evidently knew each other; or at least, she knew him. As far as the students were concerned, that made anything odd almost expected.

The Doctor looked sadly at the cinders remaining of his bow tie. Dismally, his hands delved into his pockets; and then he brightened, withdrawing another ribbon and expertly fastening it around his neck.

"You always have a spare," River rolled her eyes, "Are we going to dance, or do I have to destroy that one too?"

"Alright, alright," the Doctor stood up, "I'll dance. Just stop hurting the bow ties," his voice was hoarse by the end of that sentence; as if harming a bow tie was the greatest crime imaginable.

O

Harry and Ginny danced together; they stopped only by mutual consent, whenever they didn't like the song, and needed to catch their breath. They enjoyed each others' company; maybe more than that.

The ghost heard only whispered snippets of their conversation; as he avoided being seen by the time travellers present. Every now and then however, River Song caught sight of him; the ghost nodded at her, reminding her to be quiet.

The Doctor kept moving to dance what had been termed 'the drunk giraffe'. Every time he raised his arms to do so, River caught them, pulling him into a saner, more human dance.

The time was close; but not just yet.

He drifted out of the Great Hall: down to the blue box which had once been the TARDIS. It was unrecognizable.

On the table were too pools of cool, liquid metal; maybe they had once been TARDIS keys. It was unknown. And the TARDIS herself was not faring much better; much of the room had been filled by the expanding time machine, and furniture had been pushed along the room, to give her space to grow. The room of the room had already been shattered; and it was just a matter of time before the rate of growth would reach such a degree that a split second could pass, and all of Hogwarts would suffer.

The ghost lifted one transparent, pale hand, brushing it along the side of the blue box.

The ghost shivered; a Stalker was so close. One of the creatures which could steal his life force before he could react: ghosts, being composed of a bare minimum of life energy, were especially at risk from the Stalkers.

He continued to stare sadly at the blue box. It was hard to believe that it had once been a thing of marvels.

Time ticked past; he had waited many, many years. Time had gradually grown meaningless to him. And so the ghost waited, watching, hypnotized by the smooth blue of the time machine.

A shudder ran through the room.

The ghost blinked, drifting back. Unmistakable; another shudder. It was the TARDIS! Finally, the Stalker's leeching had proven too much for the box. It was starting to expand at a rapid rate.

Very rapid.

In a matter of seconds, another centimetre was covered by the gradually growing box. The ghost could just imagine the console room inside; pushing outwards, straining.

"Come on Doctor," he murmured, beginning to move out the room, still needing to be unseen, "Your TARDIS. You should feel it happening."

Shaking, he glided backwards, moving through the wall. Let the Doctor pacify his TARDIS: he knew what to do, he just couldn't face saying it. The method itself, he found horrific: not to mention saying it would reveal himself.

He wasn't ready for that. He doubted he'd ever be.

"Hey, you!" a familiar, Scottish voice was thrown across the corridor.

The ghost stiffened. He wouldn't just flee; he refused to let himself do that. But this he couldn't face.

"You've been following me!" Amy's voice sounded across the corridor, drawing closer, "Why?"

"Stop!" the ghost stuck out one hand, looking away to stop the redhead seeing his pale face. "I can't tell you; it's worse when you know. Trust me."

"Then you shouldn't have spoken," Amy's voice was mildly muted. She drew closer. "You should know; I'd recognize that tone anywhere."

The ghost felt her arm brush through his; he raised a hand, hiding his face.

"Don't do that," Amy's voice had changed from accusing, to kind, comforting even. "You always did try to protect me too much." She stood in front of the ghost; raising her hands, letting them pass through the cold transparency he used to cover his face.

"I'm sorry," the ghost said, sadly

"How did it happen?" Amy's voice was quietly appalled. "I didn't think you could…" her voice trailed off. "I don't think I could bear it happening again."

"You can," the ghost interjected quickly. "Please, you can."

"Only if you show me," Amy ran her hand down the edges of his.

The silver spirit of the man hesitated for a moment; tense. Then he lowered his hand, exposing his face to the air; and to the inwardly weeping Amy.

"The Doctor," he paused, "My Doctor, he reckons it's to do with the Polyjuice. Infused me with magic; that made it possible for me to become a ghost," he frowned again at himself; "Strange. Didn't really think of myself as scared of death. I tried it once; I didn't think it scared me so much."

"I'm sorry," Amy could barely bear to lift her face; yet she managed it.

She stared into the silver, ghostly face of her husband, Rory Pond.

O

The redhead returned to the TARDIS room; or at least, tried to. The whole room was now occupied by the straining time machine. Groans could be heard from within it; and even the distant chiming of a great, heavy bell.

The ghost of her husband had told her what to do. She knew how to repel the Stalker; in retrospect, it was surprisingly obvious.

"Imperio," she said sharply, disguising her inner sadness, as she spoke to her present, living husband, and the Doctor.

"What?" it was McGonagall: she spoke sternly.

Several teachers had gathered outside the room. While the many students still amused themselves in the Ball, the teachers had been called away by the rumbling and cracking, and the Doctor moving urgently, instinctive link to the TARDIS wailing.

Moody and McGonagall stood closest to the door, stepping back as cracks appeared in the frame. The TARDIS was swelling further, expanding to who-knows how big.

Curse upon curse raised; shields and preventatives. The blue box inexorably grew; a centimetre every few seconds. It didn't sound like much, but it was breaking out of the room.

The Doctor glanced sideways at River, expression pained, before he stared back at the blue box. Helpless and agonized.

"Don't look at me," River shook her head, "I just came for a dance. Though if I were you, I'd listen to Amy. She sounds like she's got the right idea," the woman flashed one more smile; and then struck her wrist-strap, activating the vortex manipulator and vanishing into time.

"Well that's helpful," the Doctor muttered sarcastically, before looking over at Amy, "Hey Pond! Why Imperio?" he echoed the incantation for the Unforgivable Curse. McGonagall shuddered as she heard it.

The Unforgivable Curses had earned a reputation, almost, as profanities among the respectable wizarding community. Casting one on a human sentenced you to Azkaban; uttering the word, even without magic, was hardly encouraged, even if allowed.

"Mind…stuff," the redhead shook her head, stumbling over the words, "You said the Stalkers cover a person's mind: Imperio attacks the mind. It will hit the Stalker; you can tell it to leave," she was repeating the ghost Rory's words.

"Mrs Pond," McGonagall interrupted, before anyone else could speak; "I- That curse is Unforgivable. No Wizard or Witch here would cast it, even in this peril."

"You'd be surprised just how much can be forgiven," the Doctor paused thoughtfully, "Alright then, Minerva, is there any room above that one? I mean, well, yeah there is, but can you take me up there? There's normally a light on top of the TARDIS, maybe…" his voice trailed off, unable to complete the rather feeble excuse.

McGonagall nodded, stiffly striding from the room. The Doctor eagerly followed; he spoke just a touch too loudly, so that the Head of Gryffindor could still hear him.

"You three stay here," he looked from Moody, to Amy, to Rory, "Maybe the door will reappear."

With that, the Time Lord was gone.

Amy and Rory looked over at Moody; the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher grunted, irritated.

Another crack; a stone fell from the roof. The TARDIS expanded further, taking on an irregular shape, breaking through several walls.

"Come on Barty," Amy encouraged, "You can go Imperio now."

"Merlin's' Beard," the Polyjuice-Potion-using Death Eater rolled his eyes, irritated that yet more people knew who he was.

"Yeah- I mean, go on," Rory stuttered, joining in, "You're the only one who's going to do it. And you need to; to save Hogwarts, and save yourself if that's what you want."  
The Death Eater flashed such a glare at Rory; that Amy was momentarily gripped by an irrational surge of fear, that Moody was about to cast the curse which would turn her husband into the ghost she'd seen.

He raised his wand, the turned to the TARDIS. "_Imperio_," he enunciated clearly. He paused for a moment; expression contorted. Then he pulled his wand back a little way; the growth of the TARDIS slowed.

And then he spoke.

"Die," his tone was sneering; mild, gruff and unforgiving.

The expansion of the time machine instantly ceased.

The Death Eater lowered his wand, pleased with himself. Silence; Amy and Rory were split between emotions. Pleased that the TARDIS was safe from that particular Stalker, and glad there was one less: 'only' six more in Hogwarts. Yet they were disturbed at the ease with which Moody had commanded the Stalker to cease living, and shocked at his casual disregard for life.

"No!" the Doctor's shout could be heard. Footsteps-

Then the Time Lord rushed back into the room; having left McGonagall behind.

"That wasn't necessary," he spoke quickly, urgently. Calmer, yet equally as unforgiving as the Death Eater.

"It was," Barty Crouch Junior remarked, simply. His eyes burned.

With a swig from his hip flask, the Death Eater walked from the room.


	8. Ordeal

**I hope you enjoyed last chapter! I tried to make it quite cheery; there's not going to be quite as much comedic stuff in this story, from now on. For obvious reasons. We're quite close to the end, and you know what happens then...  
Also, writing sadistic characters is scarily easy. I'll try to keep her on a leash though.  
Enjoy this chapter! **

Harry woke on the morning of his Second Task, with a feeling of dismay. He had no idea how to do it. Was he really expected to swim to the bottom of the Great Lake, to recover whatever had been taken from him?

He could still hear the chiming song of the mermaids in his head; echoing out from the egg. They would take something previous from him; and he would be expected to reclaim it.

Sighing, he quickly rolled out of bed. Getting dressed, he stumbled out of the dormitories; to the library, for more last-minute research. Hermione and Ron were already there; the only reason he was still in bed was because they insisted he rest up for the Task. Not that resting up would be any good if he had no clue of what to do.

He'd had shocking news after the ball; Dobby was dead.

He hadn't even known the house-elf was at Hogwarts; he'd been eager to meet the elf again, upon hearing that it'd been freed. Harry had heard that it was obsessed with fezzes, for some odd reason.

And now the house-elf was dead. There were moments Harry wanted to meet the elf again; for thanks, even with the misguided attempts that the elf had made to save him.

Dobby was a genuinely lovable creature. He didn't deserve to be found, lifeless, in the dungeons of Hogwarts: but worst of all, no one knew what had happened to him.

Except for one detail. The word was, Snape had seen a woman in a metal mask. Just for a split second; yet he had seen her.

That woman once more.

Draco had seen her, reportedly; and Harry had heard a few people mention her appearance in the First Task against the dragon.

Harry Potter stumbled out of the Gryffindor Common Room, muttering to himself as he began to head for the library. There wasn't much time until the task; nowhere near enough time.

Flash.

At the sudden light, Harry frowned; peering around. For a brief second, he saw tangled hair, face concealed behind an iron mask.

That woman again!

Before he could react, she'd thrust her long, pointed wand straight towards him.

No transition; one moment he was turning, surprised in the Hogwarts corridor. The next, he fell to the floor, body wracked with sudden agony, bolts of it coursing up and down his body.

From above him, the woman smiled in a sadistic glee.

O

The Doctor sat casually in his room. The TARDIS, while still not back to normal, appeared a great deal more natural. It was only marginally larger than it should be, and faint etchings of the previous shape were beginning to appear upon it. He noted the TARDIS keys also; gradually resuming their normal shape. They might have worked now; if there was a keyhole in the TARDIS.

He made a mental note to take a trip to the Cardiff rift after this. She deserved a quick meal: it must be utter chaos in there.

Six Stalkers still prowled Hogwarts; unseen. The Doctor hoped to do something about them, but only when he could trust Moody.

Even when his time machine at threat, he wished there was another way. Death should never ever be a solution.

"Sorry old girl," he murmured, gently brushing the smooth shell of the TARDIS. He turned to walk out the room.

He paced up several floors, turning more corners. He did have a destination, for once; to see Moody, to confront the Death Eater. Before, the teacher had just walked off. This time the Doctor needed to speak properly: it would seem Moody was the only person there willing to cast Imperio, dispelling the Stalkers. The Doctor refused to be responsible for any more deaths. If he could convince Moody to simply exile them from Earth: command them never to return, well, that would be better.

Six Stalkers to go. Six, impossible Stalkers.

There should only ever be one on a planet at a time; two as an absolute maximum. The creatures were meant to be exceedingly rare; not seven crowding into the same castle.

A scream met his ears.

That was enough to change his plans. Hastily, the Doctor started sprinting, relying on his ears to locate the source of the screaming.

A few seconds of silence; a moment's respite. The screaming began again; a boy's voice. "_Crucio!_" A woman's snarl.

"Stop!" the Doctor tumbled forwards, catching sight of two people; Harry Potter, contorted on the floor, and a woman standing above him. A woman in a dark black cloak, with a metal mask fitted over her pale face, small bars over the mouth and holes over the eyes. Long, tangled hair fell down over it.

Her face turned; glaring up at the Doctor. A split second passed. She pointed her wand away from Harry, jabbing it forwards, savage, at the Doctor. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

The Time Lord hopped back, hand running through his pockets. An instant before she finished the spell, his hand found the sonic screwdriver; a moment later, and he flicked it on.

Green light. But not from the killing curse; from the small, buzzing implement in the Doctor's hand.

"Sorry," the Doctor murmured, semi-guiltily, "Spells don't work when I'm doing this. My handy sonic! Bit like a Deluminator actually, only less deluminating. And less to do with lights; so, not much like a deluminator. But it does light up, so-"

"Would you please shut up!" the woman rolled her eyes, hissing.

The Doctor abruptly fell silent. Then:  
"Oh, it's you huh?" he blinked, nodding; "You were here in the third year. You let the Vashta-Nerada in," the Time Lord remarked, conversationally, "You know, I never caught your name."

The woman glared, willing some lethal spell to shoot from her splayed fingertips. The Doctor's interfering screwdriver prevented any magic.

Instead, muttering, she lifted one hand, covering her wild eyes with it, slipping her fingers around the edges of the cold metal mask. One heartbeat. She slowly moved her hand forwards-

Her other hand darted up, striking something on its journey to her mask. A flash of blue light; the Doctor blinked, momentarily blinded.

He glanced back, less than a second later. The woman no longer stood there; the only other person in the corridor was Harry, laying, unconscious, on the floor. The student's breathing was strained from the strange woman's casual torture.

It made the Doctor's blood run cold: a woman with the seeming ability to appear and disappear. Who killed at a thought, and who didn't suffer at all last year, at what murdered the whole of Hogwarts School.

But, most of all, how easily she entered Hogwarts, for no visible reason other than to inflict agony upon Harry Potter.

Sometimes life shocked the Doctor. He refused to believe any individual, who seemed to live solely for sadism, could ever be born. Time and time again, the universe proved him wrong.

O

Two people rested in another classroom. A man and a woman; Amy Pond, and a man that could be her husband.

The ghost of Rory Pond.

Rory still lived; yet somehow, in his future, he'd died, and now his ghost haunted Hogwarts, from the past to the present. This ghost had told her how to remove the Stalker from the TARDIS; evidently having remembered it.

And it had followed her, ever since she'd first come to the School. Originally, it had been well hidden; yet, for this year, he knew that she'd seen her. He had to be more visible, even though he was terrified of being seen.

Even in death, love remained. He didn't want to hurt her with the knowledge of his inevitable death.

"Sorry Amy," the ghost of Rory murmured.

"It's ok," the redhead slowly replied.

They seemed to have little else to say to each other; for a few minutes, they'd been together, each having so much to say to the other. When they actually met, stark reality set in, and they fell silent. Every few moments, the ghost would apologize, and Amy would shake it off.

"I'm sorry," the ghost repeated once more

"Enough already!" Amy rolled her eyes, "You're sorry, and I'm sorry. Do we need to keep repeating it?"

"Sorry," the ghost murmured, wincing at Amy's scowl.

They chuckled; the laughter died on the cold air. It was meaningless.

Despite the constant apologies, Amy could still see a haunted look in Rory's pale eyes. Noticing her stare, the ghost looked away.

"How'd it happen?" Amy murmured eventually; she didn't want to know; yet if she did, maybe she could stop it

"I wish I could say," the ghost sighed, "I got flung back in time. Met River; apparently I'm not supposed to give you any hints. Spoilers. I think she's just being irritating."

"Oh," Amy fell quiet. The two looked at each other; woman, and the ghost of her husband.

Rory's spectre looked away.

"Alright, what is it?" Amy at last groaned

"Huh?" the grey spirit frowned

"You keep looking away. I can always tell when you're acting guilty."

"Oh," Rory's ghost sighed; "I really shouldn't say," a flicker of indecision; "It's just, I was trying to protect someone when I- you know. I don't know if it worked."

Amy frowned; a solitary tear falling from her eye.

It was just Rory all over. Even when he died, even after so many years, his thoughts weren't on his own death; they were on someone he may have failed protecting.

"Was it me?" Amy looked up, thinking of the only thing she could which would make Rory that guilty.

He didn't respond.

O

"Harry," a girl's wispy voice said; slowly drawing the sleeping Boy Who Lived back to consciousness.

He was sleeping on a desk in the library; a pile of books just in front of him. A young, blonde student stood just behind Harry; gently shaking him. The black haired boy blinked a few times, mumbling as he awoke.

"Hello Harry," her voice seemed somehow surreal; half-there, half-not-there, perpetually distracted.

Harry slowly sat up, turning around to see the woman; she was younger than him, and seemed to be in Ravenclaw, judging by the blue on her robes. She wore a strange leaf-brooch.

"Who are you?" he said groggily, absently fiddling with the books

"I'm Luna," she still didn't seem too interested in reality, "Neville told me to come see you. The Second Task's happening soon," she really didn't sound all that bothered

"What?" Harry scrambled up suddenly, wincing; what was he going to do? Just walk up to them and say he couldn't do it?

"Neville wanted to talk," she said, voice like smoke, "He said he knew what you should do."

"No offence," Harry hesitated; "But Neville's mostly good at…plants. I don't really see how that's going to help, unless I can get a scuba-geranium."

"Some plants are very clever," Luna murmured, "There's a Swedish shrub which can turn into a pumpkin."

Harry frowned, but didn't say anything. Whoever Luna was, she sounded odd: but she also, apparently, knew some way to help in the task.

"I met Neville in the Yule Ball," Luna narrated, absently speaking as she lead Harry away from the library. "There was a story about the Great Squid in the Quibbler; did you know it's one of the rare Ness-creatures? I wanted to see it: Neville told me about something I could use."

She fell silent; Harry eventually prompted her, once he realized that she'd stopped speaking at the inopportune moment.

"Yes?" the Boy Who Lived frowned, "What was it?"

It wasn't Luna who answered; they'd just reached a point along the corridors, nearer to the Dungeons. Neville Longbottom stumbled out of the side, holding a vile looking green concoction of leaves in one hand.

"Gillyweed," Neville explained, lifting the plant.

O

It was cold; Harry stood on the edge of the Great Lake, Gillyweed in hand, looking out over the water. He nodded nervous thanks across to Neville and Luna. They waved back; as did Ron. Hermione wasn't there for some reason.

"All of these Champions," the man Harry knew as Dumbledore began, speaking, voice magically amplified by McGonagall, from a box high above the Lake, "Have had something precious taken from them. They have, um, one hour to find it- them. Good luck: and begin!"

Harry quickly swallowed the Gillyweed, glancing up for a moment, to see Dumbledore stumble as he sat down, the redheaded Amy holding his hand.

Harry wasn't sure what to do; Neville had mentioned something about getting gills, but how long should he wait? It would be a fine irony if it took an hour for Gillyweed to actually work. He swayed on the edge of a platform, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Hopefully that was a good sign.

Carefully, he threw himself into the icy water. The water soon swallowed him; yet he was surprised to not quite feel the cold. Momentarily confused, he simply floated, instinctively refusing to breathe out. His lungs felt like they were bursting; but he didn't risk inhaling the Lake's water.

Instead, he swam further into the murkiness-

He gasped in a breath, pressure in his chest proving too much. It took him several seconds to realize he wasn't drowning; recalling a prickle in his neck, he reached up, running his hands along his throat. Several seconds passed before he inwardly praised Neville and Luna; he could feel his skin, almost frayed.

He had gills!

Exhilarated, Harry descended further, through the reeds and vast, empty water.

There was something precious in here; but he didn't know what. His Fire-bolt? Invisibility Cloak?

Distracted, Harry recalled something Sirius had said, when they'd conversed via the fireplace. When he was in Hogwarts, James, Harry's father, had gone through a phase when he was obsessed with the Triwizard. One story James had told them, was something about the Champions told to reclaim a treasure; and it was a treasure they'd never seen before, something designed to be precious for them, but not the others. So, maybe he was looking for something he'd never seen before.

Even Draco had given him a hint; back when the Tournament was still practised, a Malfoy had won it. With their fanaticism over blood status and family, it was a story Lucius, Draco and most Malfoy's had drilled into them. One task he'd done, involved admitting that something was precious, and why. It was a task the Slytherin Malfoy had almost failed at.

Maybe that was part of the Task.

A distant, haunting song reached Harry's ears, enhanced rather than muffled by the water. The voices were eerily familiar; it took him a moment to place them. The voices from the golden Egg!

He must be nearing the mermen and mermaids; and so, nearing whatever the treasure was.

_An hour long you'll have to look…_

He missed the rest of that verse, as he fired a curse to dispel an underwater creature. But at least half of his time had gone; he had to hurry!

And then he saw it; a distant aura of light, the underwater city. That had to be his target! Hastily, Harry began to swim towards it, broad strokes, unused to moving with his newly-webbed hands.

He had to thank Neville once he got out of this. He really did.

As Harry entered the underwater city, he bit back a gasp. Tied to four pillars in the centre of the city, were four people: one, a very young girl, who resembled Fleur. Attached to another was Cho Chang, to another was Hermione and to the last, Harry realized with a gasp, was Ginny Weasley. Urgently moving now, the Boy Who Lived swam closer, reaching out, wand in hand.

A detached part of his mind briefly noticed an odd air bubble over the mouths and noses of each prisoner. Was that how they were breathing.

Carefully, he freed Ginny from the ropes, jabbing his wand at them. A flicker of indecision; then he moved on, to cut free the next person; Hermione.

Mermen seemed to appear from thin air, from the sand and shells and water itself, with no visible means of concealment. They pushed Harry away from Hermione; holding a trident to his neck. Quite vicious; the black haired boy tensed.

Behind the underwater people, he caught sight of Cedric; his head expanded in some kind of strange bubble. Harry noticed, relieved, that he freed Cho, and began to take her back up to the surface.

Knowing that at least Cho was already saved, Harry tried to escape the clutches of the mermen, lashing out with his wand. He darted forwards, still tenderly holding Ginny in his arms, as he went to free Hermione. The mermen again moved closer; preventing him.

Another moment of relief: a half-transfigured Krum descended, saving the witch. Harry looked around; there was just the young girl to be saved. But Fleur was nowhere to be seen.

Flash. Bang. Harry shot a curse out of his wand; distracting the mermen. Taking full advantage of the free few seconds, knowing time was almost up, he cut the ropes holding the young girl, and started kicking, swimming up from the deep.

Half a minute later, and he could see daylight. In one arm, he held Ginny, in the other, the young girl, as they reached the water surface.

As Harry left the water, he overheard a very odd discussion: the Doctor and Dumbledore were standing by the lakeside, speaking to the upper halves of several mermen, who had journeyed up from the depths. Harry heard one of them speak in an unintelligible language.

"I don't speak fish," 'Dumbledore' said, in what was apparently meant to be a whisper, to the Doctor. The mermen bristled.

"Now, now Rory," the Doctor cautioned, "Mer-people, not fish. And one second." The brown haired man closed his eyes for a few seconds, exhaling. Then he looked back at Dumbledore; "There, try now. Just helped the TARDIS along with her recovery"

Harry heard the mermen give more unknown gibberish; yet Dumbledore appeared to understand now. Shrugging, Harry moved away, awaiting his score.


	9. The Old And The New

**Well, you get two chapters this update. There's been an issue with fanfiction and I couldn't upload; so instead, I wrote. here's the next chapter. We're nearing the end, obviously.  
I hope you're enjoying the Voice, I think it works better for TV actually, but hopefully you still like it in my story. Enjoy! **

The real Albus Dumbledore was in the same position as he was at the start of the year. The bearded wizard crouched by a bookshelf, the white hair from his chin and cheeks now growing further, wilder, out of control. No one had worked on that detail of him; instead they kept him fed, kept him in conditions from which he could live.

The Doctor sat on the floor, just in front of the once-headmaster. A common action.

Silent, the Doctor stared into the melancholy blue eyes of Dumbledore.

"Will you ever leave him?" the Doctor said, broken

A moment.

_Will you ever leave him._

Dumbledore's voice came out in a forced rasp; the Voice within his mind still repeating. The same actions, the same words. A constant echo.

"We'll give you a gift," the Doctor paused; "Lots of voices. Oh! There's a word for you; percipience. We need your percipience," the Time Lord relished saying the word; continuing to speak even when Dumbledore's echo began. "You might be able to hear some creatures; Stalkers. It was Amy that suggested it actually," he paused.

The Voice finished recounting the Doctor's words. It might have been his imagination; but it seemed like there was a softer edge to his voice.

Could the Voice be willing to help? Or was this imagined, or a pretence?

"We'll take you to the Great Hall; by the entrance. Tell all the students to be quiet, if that's even possible in a school, and move them past you. Any possessed, you'll hear a Stalker. Percipience," the Doctor grinned at the word, "You can sense them. Help us, please."

_Help us, please. _Dumbledore's eyes glistened, tormented.

There was a flicker of hope deep, deep within them. Dumbledore's? Or the Voice's?

The headmaster fell silent; echo finished. Unmoving. Their eyes stayed focused upon the other; the Doctor and Dumbledore, resolute.

It hurt the Doctor to see the man like this. It hurt. Dumbledore was brilliant; one of the few humans the Doctor could say that about.

He cared for peace. He cared about life. He was gentle. He cared. He saved people; saved the world. He willingly sacrificed himself. And he knew that he wasn't perfect; Dumbledore was still human and, like all too few, he admitted it.

And now, the Doctor didn't even know what creature peered out from those sad eyes.

"Can you speak for yourself?" the Doctor croaked; "You know my words. Can you use them?"

_Can you speak for yourself. _Dumbledore's mouth whimpered, shaking. _You know my words. _The headmaster remained completely still, under the control of the Voice. _Can you use them._ And that was all; both Albus and the entity from Midnight remained silent.

The Doctor leant closer, to whisper into the elderly wizard's ear, tears audible in his voice.

"I'm sorry Albus," he whispered.

He couldn't bear to stay any more. The guilt overwhelmed him; it was his fault that Dumbledore lay like this; possessed.

Before he left the Office, he heard the distant rasp. _I'm sorry Albus. _A solitary tear fell from his eye.

O

The doors to the Great Hall: grand, ornate, and now, something odd stood by them.

The Doctor grinned at McGonagall; the teacher glared at him frostily. Amy and Rory stood by her; while they didn't share Minerva's muted hostility, they still looked at him, disbelieving.

By his side, unmoving, next to the door, there was a truly bizarre creature. It was humanoid, with leathery, pale skin; a beige kind-of colour. It had two hands; and in one, it held an odd, pinkish, slightly gooey orb; an orb connected to its throat by a long, fleshy stream.

Strangest of all however, was its face. Two pale, ruddy eyes, set on slightly freckled skin. Beneath that, the mouth was not visible; it was covered in a mess of tentacles, red, falling down over the Wizard's Robes it wore, and concealing much of its throat.

The alien stared forwards; unconcerned by the people near it. There was pain in its eyes.

"What," McGonagall said stiffly, "Is _that_?"

The strange, alien creature turned its head towards McGonagall. It focused intently on her; and if she focused, she could just make out a strange, singing sound.

"It's an Ood!" the Doctor grinned, apparently proud of himself. "We couldn't have Dumbledore wandering around the castle like this when he looked like he normally does."

"That's Albus?" Amy tilted her head; "Looks very different."

"Of course he does," the Doctor seemed disappointed she hadn't realized his 'genius'; "Polyjuice potion. We needed some way to disguise him, and this looks mystical enough. Plus the TARDIS is working again, so it wasn't very hard to get a little DNA to plonk in the mixture."

"Doctor," McGonagall still wasn't impressed, "Polyjuice potion works only for transformations to and from humans."

"Nah," the Doctor shrugged; "I did cheat a little though. Nipped a few years into the future, when the Silurians started attending. Potion got changed a little then; works just fine."

The teacher blinked at the Time Lord's odd explanation. The voice of Dumbledore/Ood continued softly singing, mostly unheard by the humans. A beautiful melody.

The Doctor closed his eyes for a moment, losing himself in the music. It was quite some time until he opened them once more.

"Anyway," he began, "Ood-Dumbledore can help us find any Stalkers, just got to get a Stalker to move past, um, her," he winced, "And the repetition will help us find them!"

A stony silence.

"_Her_?" McGonagall repeated.

"Yeah, well," the Doctor scratched his hair, abashed, before defending himself; "It's not easy to tell a male Ood from a female! Not my fault it was a girl in the Polyjuice. Still, doesn't really matter."

Before McGonagall could say anything else, Amy interrupted;

"So when's Alba Dumbledore going to help?"

McGonagall looked incredulously at the redhead; the teacher had plenty more to say. Still, she was outnumbered it seemed; Rory was slowly nodding, frowning as he looked at the faux Ood. The Doctor appeared to just be beaming at his own intelligence.

"Now, of course," the Time Lord replied, grinning. He gestured to beyond a grand pair of sealed doors.

Muffled chatter came from beyond them; the listeners just outside the Great Hall had dismissed it as the general background noise for Hogwarts. It was now they noticed that it didn't change by much; little change in volume, pitch or composition. While it was unmistakably the natter of students, it was only then that they realized the students weren't moving.

Every child of Hogwarts was outside, queuing to enter the Great Hall. The Doctor had used the cover of a delayed memorial for Nearly-Headless Nick; they'd walk in, in silence, and take their seats. Perhaps the new Gryffindor House Ghost would be chosen; they knew little about it.

To be quite honest, even the Doctor didn't know that much about what he'd do. He'd figure that out later.

Whatever the case, the students were ready to walk past the possessed Dumbledore, in a slow trickle preferably. The Doctor would hear the Ood-song, the repetition of the Stalker heard by the Voice's percipience, and then that student would be singled out.

Moody/Barty Crouch Junior would subtly cast _Imperio_, with the intent to banish the Stalker from Earth.

The Doctor had spoken with the Death Eater about that; not to kill. It had taken a great deal of fear, inspired by the Doctor's startlingly well-read knowledge of the plan to resurrect Lord Voldemort, before Moody listened; as well as one of the few times the Doctor ever raised his voice.

"What gives you the right?" the Doctor shouted; the human need to kill repulsed him, constantly

"Power," Barty Crouch spoke with Moody's body, spitting the word out. "It's weak. I have the power to kill; I use it." The Doctor shuddered at the words; words which made a mockery of all the Time Lord stood for, words gauged seemingly, to attack the Doctor's principles.

"And if one of them possess you?" the Doctor shot back, quickly, on the verge of anger; a rare event. "What then? You're not the only one in the universe with power."

It seemed they had to trust the Death Eater. No one else would cast the Unforgivable Curse.

Purposefully, the Doctor walked to the grand doors, parting them. Sighing in resignation, Minerva McGonagall walked into the Hall; accompanied by Amy and Rory, to take their seats. The Ood stood simply by the entrance.

"Come in," the Doctor's voice was hushed; yet it carried to all the students, "Slowly. Silently."

He stepped back, letting them move past. The students slowly moved; single file. A few edged away from the eerie Ood; silent and unmoving. Sometimes the leathery skinned alien swayed; peering closer to the passing students, an instinctive reaction in the alien's body.

Its song was silent. It heard nothing. For a moment, the Doctor was afraid that Amy's idea would fail.

And then an exultant, gibbering melody reached a crescendo in his mind; he gestured out to stop, slowly taking a young Hufflepuff from the stilled queue. The Ood-Dumbledore turned its head, looking out of grey eyes, constantly fixed on the student.

It was a credit to the Ood that the utter gibberish heard and repeated by the Polyjuice-Dumbledore still bore traces of beauty and music. It was audibly meaningless; yet the sound of Ood-Song made it pleasant to hear.

The Doctor paused, hands on the shoulders of the Hufflepuff. He said some comforting words, just padding; while simultaneously shooting a warning look over at Moody; who stood by the doors through which the students travelled. Rolling his eyes, the Death Eater subtly pointed his wand towards the Hufflepuff. A silent murmur.

The song of the Ood lost its volume; yet the Doctor noticed Dumbledore slowly begin to move, until he stared at the ceiling; focused on the departing Stalker.

Five left in Hogwarts. And only one had died.

It was half an hour later, after which the students in the Hall were getting restless. There were only two Stalkers left to find. Three had been located in the students; two in Ravenclaw, one in Slytherin.

The teachers then began to move into the Hall. The Doctor was soon about to escort Dumbledore back to his Office; when a quiet singing reached his ears.

The Ood! A Stalker was near!

The teachers had all passed into the Hall; except for Moody, who had been behind them all. The Doctor quickly gestured for the Death Eater to slow; looking around. Dumbledore was staring at the air; Ood-face intently focused on the unseen Stalker.

One thing to do.

Tentative, the Doctor walked forwards; towards Dumbledore's line of sight. He was a step away from the Ood's direct focus, when it began to turn again.

The Stalker moved through the air; drifting for the Doctor. The Time Lord paused; and the Ood-song reached a crescendo. The Time Lord blinked a few times.

While he was aware of it, the Stalker was a distinct presence. In that secluded corner of his mind; slowly draining away his life force.

"Get me, Barty," the Doctor turned towards Moody, tense.

The knowledge of the parasite housed in his mind was unsettling, to say the least. It would be days before any harm was done; still, the knowledge of it unnerved him. A death sentence; a certainty, and the Doctor never liked certainty.

There was no way he could regenerate from this. It would steal even the energy required for that.

"Barty," the Doctor said again, "Or Moody, whatever you want. It's in me; do it."

Moody raised his wand; then hesitated for a moment. A flicker of savage indecision crossed his features; and the Doctor could almost hear his thoughts.

I could leave him like this. Let him die; then only the two others would know who I really was. And they're nothing without him. He's at my mercy now.

The Doctor fixed him with a steely glare. A complete, silent bluff.

"_Imperio_," Moody raised his wand, pointing it at the Doctor.

The Time Lord felt a shudder run through his mind; through the veil of the Stalker. And he also felt Moody's agonizing indecision. Should he jeopardize the chance of resurrecting the Dark Lord, for revenge on the Doctor? He could command the Doctor also, as well as the Stalker. He could tell the Stalker to speed up feeding. He could kill it once more.

A soft, persuasive voice echoed, just outside the borders of the Doctor's mind. _Leave the Earth. Never come back. _

It was surprising; the sense of freedom that the Time Lord felt. He's been possessed by the Stalker for next to no time; and he'd barely felt its effects. Still, the knowledge of that wraith leaving him… it helped a lot.

"Thanks," the Doctor walked forwards, resting a hand on Moody's shoulder, "That was a good thing you did. Thanks for helping me," the Time Lord's voice was distinctly grateful; serious.

Grunting, the Death Eater shrugged it off; pacing, irate into the Great Hall.

Rolling his eyes at the surly man, the Doctor looked away; linking arms with the Ood-Dumbledore instead. They were returning to the Office now; for Dumbledore to rest.

The song of the Ood was silent now; with no voices to echo, even with that one last Stalker, somewhere in Hogwarts.

Through the corridors; they seemed strangely long, abandoned when there was no one in them. All the students and teachers were in the Great Hall, presumably looked after by McGonagall, who should've come up with an idea by now. A eulogy for Nick perhaps?

"Sorry about this," the Time Lord muttered, looking back at the Ood. He chuckled as he remembered Amy's nickname; "Alba."

Dumbledore's alien song chimed shortly in the Doctor's head. He smiled sadly.

Was there nothing he could do?

He'd become strangely used to the Voice; and that scared him. He was almost used to the possession of Dumbledore. He'd become lax; speaking near him, giving the Voice a greater chance to continue growing, spreading. Until it had complete control of Dumbledore.

"Here we are," he said effusively, with a grin he didn't feel. He stood by the gargoyle; the statue to Dumbledore's Office.

A moment's pause. A look back at the Ood; the alien skin was starting to wrinkle, gradually becoming flushed, and the squid-like mouth was beginning to crawl back in. The Polyjuice was wearing off.

A voice called across the corridor; "Stewardess!"

The statue grated into life; starting to turn, ascending. It heard the password.

Blinking, the Doctor turned around; he hadn't old anyone that password. In memory of the woman who'd save him from the Voice on Midnight. No one else knew it.

A distant, grey figure was drifting up the corridor. A ghost? Looked like it. The Doctor hesitated; instead of ascending to Dumbledore's Office, he waited, frowning at the distant, misty figure.

"Hello Doctor," the ghost spoke, soft, saddened.

"Oh, hi Rory," the Doctor shrugged, nodding at the spectre, before turning and hopping up to the Office. Frowning at how blasé the Doctor seemed to be, the ghost of Rory followed him; accompanying the Ood-Dumbledore into the Office.

The Doctor murmured something unintelligible, comforting, to the slowly transforming Ood, and the echoing song could just about be heard by the ghost Rory, as it gradually descended to human scales.

"So," the Doctor turned, whispering, to Rory. They were near the entrance of the Office; just out of the Voice's hearing. "How'd you know the password?"

"Um," the ghost hesitated; "Is that really the most important question?"

"What? Yes, of course it is," the Doctor muttered for a moment, frowning, "I never told you. If the gargoyle's going around telling people, then it should be sacked. Statues shouldn't go around telling people secrets."

"Well," Rory hesitated again, "You did tell me…kinda. Later on," he waited a moment, watching the Doctor frown, before speaking. "Um, Doctor…I'm a ghost."

"Huh?" the Doctor looked up suddenly, focusing on Rory's translucent body. "SO you are, oh Rory," the Doctor said despairingly, running his hands back through his hair, "Why do you have to be so careless?"

"I, um," Rory hesitated yet again; distinctly caught off guard. He knew he was meant to reveal himself to the Doctor around now; this definitely wasn't the reaction he expected. "Careless?"

"Yes Rory, careless," the Doctor moved to touch Rory's head; stumbling as he moved through the grey body. "Most people learn their lesson about dying after just once; but you, Rory, you've died twice. Isn't that a little careless?"

The ghost blinked.

"I, um, I'm sorry," he didn't know quite what to say; "I didn't do it on purpose."

"To die once is unlucky. Twice just smacks of carelessness," the Doctor quoted, "Then again, I'm one to talk… Did you really end up in the past again?"

"Yeah…" Rory seemed almost ashamed, "Hang on, how'd you know? You're not supposed to be told what's happening."

"Rory, Rory," the Doctor sighed, "When has 'supposed' had any effect on me?" he seemed sheepish for a moment, "Actually I just guessed. If you're living through from the past, it sounds like you ended up back there. It wasn't a Silurian again, was it?"

"Um," the ghost's eyes darted around, guarded, "River said I wasn't supposed to give you any details."

The ghost wasn't sure what to make of things. Far from the emotional meeting with Amy, the Doctor seemed less off-balance. Surprised, yes; but it barely affected him.

"Oh," the Doctor's face fell. Then, a moment later, he looked up; eyes suddenly bright.

O

The Great Hall: McGonagall had just delivered a rather touching eulogy about the ghost of her House; and the students sat in solemn silence. The teachers looked at each other, along their table; Amy and Rory sat there also. They were moved by Minerva's speech; even Snape and Moody showed some touch of emotion.

The moment was spoilt rather successfully, as a grinning Doctor parted the ornate doors to the Great Hall, followed by a drifting, grey being.

There was a sudden noise; a mutter spreading through the rows of students. The Doctor couldn't stop grinning; even with the almost tangible sense of tragedy in the air, brought on by the eulogy.

It was then they identified the ghostly man drifting alongside the Time Lord. More murmurs; of recognition now.

"That's not good, is it?" the living Rory whispered, very quietly, to his wife.

Speechless, the redhead watched as the ghost of Rory Pond drifted forwards; past the tables, staying just behind the Doctor.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" the Doctor shouted, voice carrying easily over the minor uproar. McGonagall stared at him; irate.

"Can I please introduce," his voice didn't waver as he gestured back to Rory, still heard by all the students, "The _new ghost of Gryffindor House_."


	10. Lost

**This might seem a little rushed towards the end; sorry, it was getting long and I wanted to get past the book-pieces. hee, and sorry for the cliffhanger...  
Anyway, enjoy! We're very close to the end now... So teasers for the next story included.**

It was the final task soon. The end of the Triwizard Tournament. The Quidditch pitch had been transformed to a grand, leafy maze; and the Champions were all hard at work.

Pressure from the Ministry of Magic, already high from the Stalker-caused deaths, reached a peak with the death of Barty Crouch senior. It took hasty manoeuvring from Rory/Dumbledore, and the Doctor, to prevent any more major action. One more death may have resulted in the Ministry shutting down Hogwarts.

And all through that, the real, human Dumbledore remained still in his Office, unmoving, and faintly echoing whatever the Doctor said, on his daily visits.

Draco paced around the courtyards. Sometimes, he span around; catching a glimpse of what looked like a woman garbed in black. Now and then, he thought he saw that fearful mask.

She was there; no doubt about that. Yet when she wanted to remain hidden, she could easily stay so. This year was just preparation.

With the death of Dobby, the means had been found. A feral smile greeted her features.

The Doctor was a problem though. She thought back on him; hand tending towards her wand. Steps away, a gargoyle exploded in a sudden jet of her anger. That meddling man knew about her; and he seemed suspicious. He'd seen her in the Third Year.

And he could stop magic. One of the few who might survive a killing curse.

No, she wouldn't kill him, just yet. She'd leave that to Vetis. Another feral smile touched her lips.

It was extinguished at the thought of Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived, who vanquished the Dark Lord so long ago, and even now still tried. Still, if the beings-of-mind set on Hogwarts did not conquer him, the later plans surely would.

She was to leave soon. Yet she could not resist one last act of vandalism; one last attack on the hated castle. She stood in the courtyard; away from the wandering students, and faced up at the stone hours.

Screeching, a loud, powerful curse erupted from her lips and wand, the instant she vanished in a blue light. A similar, pale blue shot straight up from her hand, a deadly beam striking the architecture. A long scar etched itself up the tower, gouged into the stone. Chips of the grey brick fell the great distance, stolen from the grand tower, falling to the courtyard below.

It was a petty action. But it spoke volumes: I can reach your castle, through all your defences.

And within Hogwarts, Harry Potter awoke suddenly. From the noise; and from fear of the task ahead. He lay still, shaking at the steady, deafening grating.

It was about half a minute until the curse faded; a scar left in the stone tower of Hogwarts. Meaningless vandalism; pure, petty destructiveness.

Groaning, Harry got up; he needed to practise more for the Task. And he doubted he could get back to sleep.

O

"Stewardess," the Doctor said clearly; heard by Amy and Rory, as he ascended the gargoyle. Dumbledore's Office once more.

Still darkened. No sunlight came through the blinds; however, there was one change. The headmaster sat in his normal seat, hefted there by the Doctor earlier. He didn't look much better. Unmoving, blue eyes wide and staring, sitting unnaturally.

There was one Stalker somewhere in Hogwarts. Just one left; and they had no idea where it was, and who it was in; if it was in anyone.

Someone else was in the Office; a pale grey ghost. Rory. Silently, he drifted out through the wall.

Apparently, the ghost often visited Dumbledore, some kind of comfort. Maybe even entertainment; they had no way to know what was happening to Dumbledore. Maybe he was conscious in there, constantly staring out, helpless, to the world.

The ghost rarely stayed near them however; aside from rare pieces of advice, such as telling Amy to Imperio, he tried to stay away. Avoiding spoilers; and avoiding himself.

It wasn't a topic anyone wanted to discuss. Rory would die soon, and then go to the past of Hogwarts, not necessarily in that order.

The Doctor, Amy and the living Rory looked at the headmaster. The latter two didn't know why they were there; they'd simply followed the Doctor.

"This year is almost over," the Doctor paused, "We'll try to save you."

_We'll try to save you._ The rasp of the Voice continued after the Doctor's statement; mocking.

O

Draco stood beside Harry; an empty classroom, training for the upcoming Third Task.

"_Carpe Retractum,_" Draco muttered, a robe shooting from the end of his wand, and pulling a box closer. He caught it in his free hand, before throwing it through the air, "Try it Potter! _Bombarda!_"

The black haired student paused for a moment, before repeating the latter spell; "_Bombarda!_" the box exploded twice; once from Draco's hex, once from Harry's. A few shards fell to the ground, featureless specks of black.

"Nice," Draco nodded, appreciative, "_Reparo_, _Wingardium Leviosa_," he moved his wand in a steady circle, putting the box back together, and levitating it. "Try this one; _Duro!_"

Harry frowned, unfamiliar with the incantation. Then again, Draco did come from a wizarding family; he was likely to know about more. Absorbing information, Harry watched as the small, metal box turned to stone.

"One, two, three," Harry inhaled, pointing his wand at a quill, "Duro!" Nothing.

"Yeah, not an easy one, huh Potter?" Draco chuckled, levitating the quill, "_Duro!_"

The feather turned to stone, falling with a clink and cracking on the desk. "We'll practise that one next time, then."

"Might not be a next time," Harry shrugged; "It's getting close to the task."

"Try harder then," Draco snapped for a moment, before frowning and commenting; "I'm on edge, huh? Blame that woman."

"The one in the mask?"

"Of course, "the Slytherin curled his lip; "Who else?"

"She's been talking to you again?" Harry tensed, remembering his own, unpleasant experience with the stranger.

He'd barely seen her; she'd somehow appear behind him, and screeched a _Crucio_. Agony; right up until the Doctor saved him. The random violence, the uncontrolled fury of that masked woman… It was enough to scare him.

He had but one point of reference for her cruelty. Quirrell. The Basilisk. Tom Riddle: or rather, Lord Voldemort. That was who she reminded him of, unquestionably.

"What'd she want now?" Harry sat down, ready to talk. He subconsciously waved his wand, thinking the incantation _Duro_ again and again. He had to get it right.

"You tell me," Draco pursed his lips. "She's hardly clear."

"Mm," Harry nodded slowly. While he hadn't had any opportunity to talk to her, the little he'd heard of the Doctor speaking to her, she'd vanished as opposed to saying a thing.

They paused; a little silence. They took breaks like this often; intending to speak to each other, yet in the end there was nothing to say. This time, as normally, it was Draco who broke the silence.

"C'mon, back to work Potter," he twirled his wand, "You're the one who's gonna need this magic." He cast _Duro _once more, turning a quill to stone.

Harry jumped up; pausing, before once again beginning to practise.

O

She had been seen in the castle again; just for a few moments. The woman in the metal mask.

Rory and Amy accompanied each other, wandering around; holding the sonic screwdriver. The Doctor had given it to them, saying it would stop any spells cast on them.

They doubted they'd see her; that woman appeared to be an expert at hiding. Still, maybe they'd get 'lucky': if it could be called luck, stumbling onto a sadistic witch.

"I can't see her," Rory said, just filling in the silence.

"Me neither," Amy sighed. Pause. "Hey, Rory? We need to talk."

"I thought we were," he slumped as the joke was ignored, "What about?"

"The ghost."

"Oh, him," Rory hesitated, "Sorry."

"Whatcha apologizing for?" Amy lightly slapped his shoulder, "I doubt you did it on purpose."

"I know," her husband looked down, "But I don't want to leave you."

"I'll survive," Amy's voice cracked; she knew she was lying, yet she needed to give some comfort to Rory. "I don't blame you, `k? Don't worry about leaving me."

Rory said nothing. Amy winced; she was making all of this up. In truth, she didn't know what she'd do. Last time he died…

She cast her memory away from that moment. Unbearable. Suffice to say, there was nothing worse.

They couldn't meet each others' eyes. From a distance, the ghost of Rory watched, pained. He knew his appearance would cause this: and there was anything he could've done to avoid it… But it had been years, and nothing he thought of would have worked.

The silvery echo turned, to drift away. Lost.

Amy slowed, sonic screwdriver held lightly in her hand. There was no sign of the masked woman, and she didn't feel like she could continue for much more. Maybe they should turn back. Maybe.

From a distance, a woman with tangled hair, and a metal mask, watched, weighing her wand in her hands. She pointed it across the room; focus drifting from Amy, to Rory. Pause.

Reluctantly, she raised her other hand, pulling her wand-arm down. Something important was to happen soon; in the Maze. The Third Task. She was told not to interfere at all.

Still, could one _Avada Kedavra_ hurt? Her pale skin contorted into a smile. Fix the issues later. She re-raised her wand, aiming, ready to fire the killing curse. There was Rory… "_Avada-_"

"No killing," high voice said, just by her ear; it some in a combination of reluctance and force, "Yet."

The masked woman was pulled back, unwillingly, eyes wide, into a flash of blue.

O

The Quidditch pitch was now dominated by tall, imposing, black leaves: dark trails of bushes, in an immense maze. Somewhere deep within it, lay the Triwizard cup: the task for the Four Champions was to find it.

They stood by the outside; all four, along side Moody, and the Triwizard judges (with McGonagall instead of Dumbledore).

She read off the rules for the task: Harry wasn't really paying attention, instead staring into the maze ahead. He's learnt several new spells, from Hermione and Draco, and despite struggling a little with _Duro_, he felt more or less prepared. Yet he was up against higher years: that put him at a distinct disadvantage.

Then again, it was a maze. It seemed to be more about luck, finding the right way through the darkness.

McGonagall finished reciting the normal commands. She looked around; noting the Doctor standing beneath the crowd seats; hidden mostly. Quite understandable; considering the fact an Ood stood to his side.

Dumbledore once more; the real one, possessed by the Voice.

The Doctor was still searching for the last Stalker; it would appear he'd decided to come here. Well, it was the most likely place.

"Silence for the Champions!" McGonagall's voice rose, imperious.

The audience was quiet for just a few seconds; yet the break was enough for the Doctor to shake his head, beginning to move, resignedly, away with Dumbledore.

"Let the task begin!" Minerva shouted, stepping back.

With the most points, Harry and Cedric were the first two to enter the maze. Winding through the labyrinth, Harry was soon alone.

The hedges grew to an immense height; they blocked out all trace of the day, and any sound was muffled, perhaps magically, by the silence of the leaves. Almost all light was taken in; stolen from the maze. Tentative, Harry raised his wand, murmuring a "_Lumos_." A small light formed on the tip of his wand; it showed him little else.

Just the leaves, and scattered path ahead. Tense, the Boy Who Lived continued through the maze.

Spider.

The black haired boy tensed, taking a few, hasty steps back. A huge spider peered around the closest corner, metre-long forelegs moving gently along the branch-strewn ground. Eight insect eyes peered to face Harry.

One second. Two.

It charged; pincers pointed straight at Harry.

"_Impedimenta_!" Harry shouted, taking a cautious few steps back. The spider hesitated; yet continued, easily batting past the spell.

Harry began to run; directly away from the charging giant spider. But he wasn't fast enough; the arachnid's legs gave it the advantage, each pushing it several metres ahead.

The Champion risked a glance back; seeing the spider charge forwards, legs brushing, snapping the hedges to its side. Harry hesitated; then grinned for a moment. The spider was metres away; pincers outstretched.

"_Duro_!" Harry shouted, a jet of light shooting from his wand, and striking the hedges.

Either a miracle, luck, or good aim. Whichever it was, the spell hit precisely where Harry intended; the leaves of the bush began to turn to resilient stone, in a localized area granted, but it happened nonetheless. The spider strained at its new, rock bindings; the leaves around its legs were now all unyielding grey.

Harry turned to run; taking a different route, hopefully before the spider escaped. Maybe that spell was worth it after all.

O

"No, no," the Doctor ran up, just as the last of the Champions, Fleur, entered the maze. Minerva looked at him sharply; "It was here," the Doctor panted.

"The Stalker?" McGonagall frowned; suddenly nervous.

Those aliens had killed several students. One left; and now…it was here? In the maze? Where? The questions whirled around in her head.

"It arrived late," the Doctor exhaled, "Very late. Only just heard it as I left. It's in one of the Champions; it has to be. He's silent now."

A Champion? McGonagall was speechless: the final Stalker was possessing a Champion? Which one?

She found herself hoping the tournament would be over soon. That way, they could find the afflicted Champion. Cure him, or her.

If things didn't happen quick enough, it was likely that the Champion would lose their life: and McGonagall couldn't face that.

O

"Cedric!" Harry gasped, almost crashing into the other Hogwarts Champion.

It had been quite some time since the beginning of the task; Harry blinked a few times, struggling a little to keep his eyes open.

The Hufflepuff swayed a little; weary, uniform ripped and singed, hair streaked with dirt and a small cut on his cheek. Then again, Harry supposed he didn't look much better.

"Hi Harry," Diggory nodded, distracted, "You're finding your way through, huh?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded.

With that, their brief correspondence seemed to be over. Cedric passed the Boy Who Lived, journeying down another junction. Seconds later. A piercing scream; a woman's. Fleur.

Harry briefly hesitated; before forcing himself on. Presumably she'd sent up red sparks, if she was overwhelmed; probably by one of the creatures in the maze. Harry continued, yawning once. More seconds; he heard more cries, a man's voice now, muffled hexes and curses shouted.

Cedric. Harry hesitated for just a second, before turning, and running straight down Cedric's route. He heard Cedric's shouts; could see flashes of light, only a few metres away yet hidden in the darkness of the maze. In one burst of red (accompanied by Cedric's yell of _"Stupefy!_"), Harry caught a glimpse of Cedric, and his opponent.

The Triwizard Champion had his wand-arm raised, pointing the wooden baton past the tall, leafy walls: through the darkness and mist, at another human. A woman; adult, by no means a Champion. She wore a metal mask; and duelled with Cedric, firing bolts of red, white and green, bolts of light like lightning.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Harry shouted, firing the curse over Cedric's shoulder. The woman easily locked it; shooting an irritated look at Harry.

"_Imperio!_" the masked woman pointed her wand at Harry, rapidly firing the Unforgivable Curse, before returning her attention to Cedric, only marginally distracted by the effort of willpower to control Harry.

The Boy Who Lived saw the world in a haze; unreal, only half-there. As if, with one eyes he saw half the world; Cedric and the unknown woman, shooting curse upon curse at each other, deflecting and retaliating, and with the other eye he saw within his own mind. Darkness; no, one pinpoint of light. And a voice; something speaking.

A voice from the light. Harry found himself eager to hear what the voice had to say. That was his only real feeling; he seemed to be floating, untouched by the harshness of the maze, unaffected by Cedric. He felt no needed to help the Champion who fought for his life, just steps away.

And then the voice from the light spoke; the woman's voice. A harsh edge to out-of-control tones.

_Kill the boy._

Against his better judgement, Harry felt his hand tend towards his wand. A grip; he lifted it, trembling, tip edging towards Cedric.

A flash of irritation on the woman's face. _Kill him. Now!_

The voice was sweetly seductive; the woman was evidently trained to use the Imperius curse. He found it harder to resist than Moody's test, earlier in the year. Indeed, he found it almost impossible to resist. He tensed, opening his mouth to speak the curse.

The words caught in his throat; jaw too tensed to close, tongue kept down by the little will he had. No. A murmur in his head; the light in his mind burned brighter. _Kill the boy now. _No. _Kill him!_ Her voice reached a perilous height; she snarled, redoubling her efforts, throwing curses at Cedric with twice the speed, twice the ferocity.

And still, the quiet, resisting voice in Harry's head spoke with a small, yet resounding, 'no'.

_Kill him!_ Now the voice was accompanied by a shriek; only half-heard by the distracted Harry. Cedric took a step back; caught off guard with the animalistic noise coming from his opponent.

_Kill him! Now! Listen to me!_

"No," the word fell from Harry's lips; he looked up, reality flooded back, "No." Firm.

The masked woman screamed one last hex, batting the curses from both Harry and Cedric away. She brought her arm back, poised as if to spring it forwards, jabbing-

She vanished in a blue flash. Cedric and Harry barely had time to look at each other; before another shriek met their ears.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

The two Champions instinctively turned, stepping back, pressing themselves to the painful bushes; half-expecting to see a whoosh of green light shoot past them. Yet there was nothing.

Had it happened elsewhere in the maze? Apparently so.

The two Champions turned to move on. It sounded heartless; but there was nothing they could so, and even so, they had no idea as to if it hit anyone. It could have been the insane masked woman, letting out her rage on the air.

They travelled onwards, to wherever to Triwizard Cup lay, now in an unspoken partnership.

O

"Anyone tired? Anyone?" The Doctor waved, leaning forwards.

He was searching for the final Stalker. Maybe it was out here, somewhere. Logic told him it was lost in the maze, with one of the four Champions; but he couldn't stop hoping.

The symptoms of a Stalker: tiredness, inability to stay awake, and later, death. He hoped to find them before the last occurred.

Red sparks shot up, out from the maze; terminating quickly. The Doctor looked up sharply; noticing a few teachers fly over the hedges on brooms, to the source of the warning. Moments later, they came back: carrying Krum.

They deposited the student atop the teacher's box. The fliers stepped away slowly; hesitant. He was dead; an instant uproar gripped the box.

"Krum," Karkaroff exhaled the word; choked, forcing it from his throat.

Silence. Famed Quidditch player Viktor Krum, and Triwizard Champion for Durmstrang lay lifeless just before them.

"Is Hogwarts doing anything for the protection of its students?" Fudge said, after several quiet moments. Incredulous.

"Shut it, will you?" Rory/Dumbledore snapped; momentarily out of character. He paused, cringing; looking back, sadly, to Krum.

The Minister for Magic looked away; abashed.

"Nothing in that maze did this," Snape said, catching their attention. The Doctor looked up suddenly; drawn away from his brooding about death. Yet he soon looked down; Krum's eyes were wide, his skin pale. Unlike that of a Stalker victim.

Snape continued: "I know the signs. He was the victim of a killing curse."

O

The Triwizard cup stood, resplendent, in the centre of the maze. The masked woman watched; two students moved closer to it, and gripped it in unison.

She stepped forwards, and let out a triumphant, feral, cheer. A bolt of light shot from her wand; and she vanished. The victorious white vanished soon after; yet its echo lingered on, forbidding.

Following the path of the Triwizard Cup, Harry Potter found himself in hell. A distant graveyard, full of the dead. The only truly living person there was Peter Pettigrew, Worm-tail. Harry didn't think the shade held in his arms counted as living at all.

Lord Voldemort. The most evil wizard of all time, the Dark Lord, still hanging on to life.

Harry's eyes darted around the graveyard; he force them open, feeling the bizarrely uncontrollable need to sleep. Cedric lay lifeless on the darkened floor; Harry felt a tear fall from his eye.

And then anger burned through him; so much that it obliterated almost all other thought.

Too tired to focus on the pain roaring from his arm and scar, he only truly focused on reality when the resurrected Lord Voldemort stood before him; surrounded by masked, loyal Death Eaters.

A high-pitched, cruel voice. It pierced the night.

"Now untie him, Worm-tail," a mocking smile on that pale, skeletal face, "And give him back his wand."

Harry staggered forwards, struggling to find his feet. He peered up, taking in the thin, pale frame of the Dark Lord. There was no way to survive this; Death Eaters all around, and Voldemort just in front.

He forced his eyes open; keeping himself awake with a visible effort. How was he to survive when it felt as if his life was already being stolen?


	11. The Dark Lord

**Here's the next chapter! This and the next were originally going to be in one part, but this went on quite a while, so...  
In any case, it's not quite the end, but very close. Some of it's similar to the book, but I tried to add a dash of originality. Enjoy! **

A duel with the Dark Lord: Voldemort himself stood before Harry, wand raised.

"You have been taught to duel?" Voldemort inquired, falsely polite, tilting his head in a serpentine manner.

Harry nodded stiffly; stumbling. It took him a few seconds to remember a Duelling Club in his second year; a disarming charm, and a speech to not use it. He doubted that would be much good when faced with the Dark Lord.

"Bow," Voldemort raised his wand, pointing it down at Harry. The black haired boy felt his spine bend, unwillingly, forwards.

He resisted as best he could; gritting his teeth. Nothing; he stayed bowed until Voldemort relented, allowing him to straighten. Jeers from the Death Eaters: silenced by a glare from Voldemort.

Harry blinked; feeling his eyes again drift shut. This shouldn't be happening; not now. Why couldn't he stay awake? Why was it so hard? Lord Voldemort was right in front of him; that should make him wide awake, not drifting off like this.

"Now," the Wizard exhaled, hissing, "And now you face me like your father. Straight-backed and proud," a tight-lipped, mocking smile; "The way your father died."

Harry blinked a few times, struggling to reopen his eyes. His wand seemed loose in his hand; ready to fall out. Muttering, he clenched his hand, holding the wand closer. He couldn't let go.

"And now," the words were like mist; exhaled from Voldemort mouth as scarcely more than a breath, yet lingering, "We duel."

Split second. Harry began to lift his wand; yet he reacted too slowly, unnaturally drowsy, lethargic.

The Dark Lord's long, pale arm lifted straight up into the air; wand pointing down from his skeletal hand. A cruel, high curse, the word relished: "_Crucio!_"

Agony. Unwillingly, yet all-too quickly, the Boy Who Lived fell to his knees in the graveyard, falling on the floor and almost-gratefully shutting his eyes. He curled up; noticing the fade begin to fade, not because of any weakening of the curse, but because his body seemed to stop caring.

It scared him, somewhat. The tips of his fingers and toes were suddenly numb; a seeping, unfelt presence on the extremities of his bodies. Throughout the rest of his body, the Cruciatus curse ran; yet it was weaker, muted.

When wracked with pain for long enough, it becomes the norm. While Harry was the victim for little under a minutes; and even when the pain was weakened by the unknown ailment afflicting his body and nerves, the new paradigm of agony supplied by the Cruciatus curse felt to be normal. A shock, equal to the intensity of the curse, jolted him; as Voldemort released him from the agonizing grip.

For a few seconds, Harry considered laying there; defeated. He was going to die like Cedric; alone, cold.

Not yet.

His dozing mind may have given him more bravery; or maybe the nightmares flickering, distracting, along its edges gave him some more motivation. Whatever the case, Harry stood up; wand gripped in a white-knuckled hand.

An amused, sneering expression curled Voldemort corpselike lips.

"Would you like more pain?" the Dark Lord's slit-like nostrils quivered; angry, almost cheated. It was then Harry noticed something; he hadn't screamed, too tired to, or maybe too tired to feel any agony like the agony the woman had inflicted upon him.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Harry didn't speak; too intent on focusing on just that simple pattern. It felt like a conscious effort was needed. Breathe in. Breathe out.

"_Crucio!_" Voldemort jabbed his wand forwards again.

Breathe in. Breathe out. The utter agony of the curse was no more than a soreness to Harry's lethargic mind; numbness spread up his arms, around his torso and head, and his legs felt little more than a distant ache.

He managed to remain standing. The Dark Lord scowled.

Hissing ran through the crowd of Death Eaters. Harry didn't hear; the world didn't reach him any more, not through the strange, insubstantial veil which had risen over his senses.

It came at a price though; it was a conscious effort to keep his eyes open, a challenge to not fall to the floor and sleep. The murky graveyard looked strangely inviting; descend and join the dead beneath his feet.

The sounds of the world faded as his eyelids moved to fall further. It felt like a barrier was being formed; keeping him away from the real world. The some total of his senses was a blurry picture; a pale face contorted with rage.

It took Harry a moment to identify it. Voldemort.

The Dark Wizard raised his skeletal arm, thrusting it forwards through the air, lips peeling back to bear pale teeth. Flash of green.

Harry couldn't bring himself to move; he felt on the verge of sleep, all energy draining out his muscles, his nerves, his mind, every part of his body. Powerless.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" the words gently drifted to his ears, settling into his mind. He felt no sadness; no dread. He felt nothing.

Twitch.

Maybe it was instinctual, maybe it was subconscious, maybe it was the wand itself; but the wooden implement flicked up momentarily. A streak of light shot from it, impacting the green jet of light.

A sudden explosion when the magic met. Voldemort lifted his other bony arm; flowing robes as a momentary shield from the light. Harry didn't move at all, except for a minor stumble as his wand shuddered. Phoenix song emanated from his wand; and his mind slowly cleared.

He still felt tired; by no means cured of whatever afflicted him, yet granted a reprieve. However slight. Eyes widening, Harry lifted his other hand; gripping his wand arm as tremors shook his wand.

A stream of light connected his wand with Voldemort's; an almost blinding white, a thread of pure magic, shaking. It felt almost as if his wand would shatter; and the Dark Lord opposite appeared to be suffering from the same problem.

A knot was formed in the centre of the light; a shaking, bright mass of more unrestrained magic. A bead; it ran along the string, slowly, throwing off sparks. Harry instinctively tried to force it away, still only half-awake, feeling his wand wouldn't survive much more of the trembling pressure through the thread.

Light surrounded the two: it took Harry a moment more to notice that, the reprieve of phoenix song still only slightly effective.

A dome of energy; translucent light, also emanating from their wands.

The Death Eaters were kept out; despite the frantic hexes they threw at it. They were forced to watch their Lord and the Boy who'd vanquished him before, bound together by a thread from their wands, and duelling with means unknown to them.

Harry Potter staggered back, feeling his head pound; tiredness threatened to overwhelm him, the phoenix song had restored his thoughts and nerves, yet the lethargy was still present. Stealing what little life he had.

A wail was ripped from Voldemort's resurrected lips; an animalistic sound, a hiss akin to that of a serpent.

The worrying thing was how easily it came from those thin lips; the sound of a snake, the pure animal rather than the parseltongue, from the Dark Lord's reptilian face.

Harry kept his wand-arm outstretched, keeping the searing light away from his body, and supporting his wand with his free hand. Voldemort's poise was very different; wand-arm instead jabbing forwards, other arm curled to his side, hostile.

The ball of light trembled along the quaking string. For moments, it seemed uncertain which way to go. A moment, it tended towards Harry: and then, for occasional seconds, it began to tend towards the pale Dark Lord. Harry focused on it, trying to ignore the lethargy feeding into him, and ever so slightly, it began to move towards Voldemort.

A hiss; the Dark Lord's eyes widened, wand shaking, fit to crack, as the bead of light drew closer to him.

Flash.

The shimmering light touched Voldemort's wand; and for a moment, time seemed to stop. Golden light shone, criss-crossing through the air around them, keeping the Death Eaters at bay. Voldemort's eyes widened, almost in fear-

Screams resounded; a twisted echo, shooting out from his wand. Then a smoky hand, a ghost of the one which had been bestowed upon Worm-tail. And then more screams, distorted.

Harry looked around; even in his half-asleep state, he was awed, yet confused, by the spectacular lights around him, and the unknown magic being performed.

A coil of smoke began to rise from Voldemort's wand; and it soon solidified, forming a person's torso; and then a person's body. Cedric Diggory; something more solid than a ghost, yet more unreal.

Harry almost let go of his wand; but only almost. Breathe in, breathe out. The veil over his senses had been flung away; his eyes were kept open by the miracles occurring around him at such frequency, no matter how much they wanted to close. To sleep…

No!

"Harry," the…something of Cedric nodded once; regretful. "Hold on."

Screams once more emanated from Voldemort's shaking hand and wand. Then, more smoke, curling, rising and creating some new form.

The patterns repeated, strangers curling from wisps of smoke; unknown old men, a Ministry woman, serenaded by screams, echoes perhaps of the Cruciatus curse. Harry stared, shielding his eyes from the blinding white and gold light.

And then a hush seemed to spread along the binding thread; not any real quiet for the light was still shaking, the Death Eaters still shouted; yet it felt so. Somehow, Harry knew what would happen next. The people out of the wand, Cedric…

"Hold on," one of the many echoes behind him murmured.

The Boy Who Lived nodded; yet trembled more than ever as the latest figure rose up from Voldemort's wand. A woman; long, transparent hair, and a softly smiling face. His mother.

"Your father's coming," she said, smiling at her son, "He wants to talk to you, things will be alright," she paused, "Hold on."

Slowly, she came to a halt behind Harry. A great many of the spirits, winding, drifting around the dome of light frowned; before tending towards her position also, as more smoke began to rise from Voldemort's wand.

James Potter blossomed from Voldemort's quaking wand; walking over to Harry, speaking in the same, distant voice as the others. The Dark Lord could just watch as his victims prowled around him; speaking in tones unheard by him.

"Harry," his father smiled, before becoming tense, urgent, "When the connection is broken, we will linger for only moments, but we will give you time. You must get to the cup, it will return you to Hogwarts. Do you understand Harry?"

It took the black haired boy a moment; to wet his throat, to jolt himself away.

"Yes…dad," Harry gasped; struggling to hold on to his wand as tremors wracked his hand.

His father nodded once, smiling, before leading the rest of the echoes, Lily Potter by his side, as they began to move towards Voldemort.

The Dark Lord feared but one thing; death. And now all the people he'd consigned to death moved towards him, and another was sprouting from his shining wand. Eyes wide on his pale face; he may well have felt the one emotion he'd vowed never to feel again. Fear.

"Harry," Cedric's voice whispered, drifting past him, "Take my body back, will you? Take my body back to my parents."

"I will," Harry nodded, shivering.

The ghosts began to form a circle around the mad Voldemort. James's voice drifted across the dome; "Do it now, be ready to run." Urgent. Preparing his son.

"Now!" Harry shouted; barely ale to hold on t his wand, unable to form the connection needed.

"Go, Harry!" his mother's voice rang out.

The echoes, the spirits of all Voldemort had slain assailed him. He batted them away; struggling, surrounded by foes.

Harry yanked his wand up; the thread joining their wands shattered. Instantly, Harry began to run, darting around the side of a gravestone.

Lethargy began to bubble up inside him; he had to use his eyes to check that he still held his wand. Hands were completely numb. Where was the cup? And Cedric? He cats his eyes around; hearing the frantic shouts of Death Eaters slowly fade.

Not from distance however. The same ailment which afflicted him before now rose up again. He couldn't feel; tiredness, weariness began to rise, unwanted and unexplained. A flash of light shot past him; he tuned it out, too easily.

Blue flash. Harry turned suddenly; brought from his induced reverie by the light. At a distance, a woman, dark tangled hair and a metal mask, stepped forwards from the brief flash.

"_Stupefy!_" her screeched curse shot through the graveyard; the force behind it chipping several gravestones.

Voldemort looked up suddenly; anxious to see the source of the spell. To no avail; in one more blue flash, the woman had disappeared. Why didn't she ant to be seen? A rattling hiss fell from Voldemort's throat.

The Dark Lord walked forwards; now calm. At his feet, the Boy Who Lived lay, stunned. A rare smile graced the pale features of the Dark Wizard.

"_Ennervate_," the way he spoke the spell was almost mocking. Life jolted back into Harry's stunned frame; yet it was a struggle to reopen his eyes.

"Harry," Lord Voldemort hissed, moving closer to the floor, wand touching the tender flesh at the student's neck. "Look at me," a command. Harry struggled; scar burning as Voldemort's face moved, to just centimetres away. "I want to see the life leave your eyes."

Seconds passed. The slow, hissing breath of the Dark Lord so close to the struggling, agonized and lethargic Harry. Only the agony burning in his scar gave any real sensation to him. Everything else faded away…

Except fear. Fear was ever-present when Voldemort stood by.

The pale wizard lifted his wand; a small distance, before thrusting it down once more, touching Harry's neck with a flash.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

O

"Shouldn't Harry be back by now?" Amy frowned to the Doctor.

The Time Lord turned; and then nodded quickly, once. Then he looked back to the maze; urgent, tapping his foot.

"Why's it taking so long?" Amy muttered, impatient.

The Doctor shrugged; still looking away.

"Doctor?" the redhead prompted, sensing something unusual in the Doctor's manner. She nudged the Time Lord, trying to get him to say something.

"Ah, Rory," the Time Lord's tone sounded with false levity. He reached into his pocket; "I- When Harry gets back, he's going to have a few questions. Learn your lines!" he tossed a thick paperback copy of the fourth book over to Rory.

The Dumbledore-appearing man fumbled; just managing to catch it. Frowning, he flicked through it, towards the end.

"Doctor," Amy again; sighing, annoyed. "What is it?"

The Time Lord sighed, looking away.

"The Stalker," he murmured. "It possessed one of the Champions. Not Krum; he's dead. Fleur was the last to go into the maze; so not her. Either Cedric or Harry; and Cedric dies. Stalker wouldn't stay in him past that."

"So…" Amy frowned, "Harry's…"

"Probably," he slumped; "Or Worm-tail, but things are never that easy. Might have possessed him before the start of the task too."

"So Harry's possessed by the Stalker?" Amy murmured; dreading the response.

"A Stalker under threat," the Doctor said; he sounded unemotional, simply because there was no way to express all he felt. "It hasn't fed for a while. Otherwise we would have seen it before now. And Harry's in danger, in the maze. It's going to try and have all it can; stealing Harry's life force right to the very last…drop," he looked down.

"We need Moody," Amy sighed.

"I know," the Doctor's voice cracked; "And he's not going to be here for very much longer."

O

A wail. A scream; a screech. An inarticulate noise of utter fury.

It had happened a second time; Harry's wand had twitched, a faint effort to save himself. A tiny spark from the end; and the spells had contacted, the blinding rope of light joining them, and throwing Voldemort away. He stood a couple of steps from Harry; the Boy Who Lived still lying, lethargic, on the graveyard floor.

Phoenix song reached his ears; yet Harry still struggled to stand. His eyes were only slightly open; and even with the remedial song of the Phoenix, endless sleep seemed all too close. All effort was put into keeping hold of his wand; keeping a grip on it despite the quaking.

From above, Voldemort glared down, furious the odd link had formed once more. He put all his effort into forcing the shaking bead down the string; breaking Harry's feeble resistance. A hissing cry came from the Dark Lord's throat.

And the bead touched Harry's wand. A sudden flash; Harry crawled up to his knees, with barely enough energy to pant. He held onto his wand with both hands.

Echoes blossomed around him; appearing like fireworks, gently rotating, orbiting him. A smoky wand, a statue of a huge spider, burning leaves… Many were echoes of the things he'd faced in the maze.

The Death Eaters bayed at the golden cage; firing yet more curses at the seemingly invulnerable, golden dome.

Within, Voldemort glared; snarling, eyes wide, rage resplendent. "Why won't you _die_?" his words came out as a feral cry. Inhuman.

Harry didn't speak. He doubted he could; the exertion of magic, the endurance needed to bear the burning in his scar, and the constant drain of energy. Perhaps the phoenix song was the only thing keeping his alive.

Harry staggered to his feet, surrounded by echoes of creatures from the task. He trembled; watching Voldemort through his almost-shut eyes. He was tired; and this time, he did not have the help of his parents, nor of Cedric and the others.

He flung his eyes around, taking a tentative step back, peering through the nearly opaque dome.

The cup! There, and…Cedric.

It never occurred to him to not listen to Cedric's last wish. Somehow, it just seemed…right.

"_Accio!_" Harry shouted; snapping the connection with Voldemort's wand. A snarl from the Dark Lord.

Harry stumbled forwards, collapsing to the ground, just by Cedric. He grabbed the Champion's hand.

Voldemort flung a last spell; "_Avada Kedavra!_" The curse, a whirling flash of green shot straight for Harry-

The cup brushed Harry's hand. A whirl of light; and the killing curse contacted the ground.

Harry and Cedric vanished; to Hogwarts. Behind them, Voldemort let out a wild shout; pure anger.


	12. Intimidation

**Now, the last chapter! Originally going to be merged with the last, but I think you can see why it wasn't. Long enough...  
The Year Five story will be entitled The Call, and will see the continuation of one storyline introduced in this story... **

Harry thudded to the ground, just outside the maze. The whole audience stood up suddenly; cheering, oblivious to the tragedies and dangers to have just occurred.

From the teacher's box, the Doctor, Amy and Rory leant forwards suddenly; the Doctor leapt out of the box, falling a mildly dangerous distance in an effort to reach Harry. First though…

He darted into a small room, normally used as the Quidditch teams entered the pitch. Moody stood within it; walking towards Harry.

"Hi, Barty," the Time Lord panted, "We need you."

He wasn't afraid to sue the Death Eater's real name; no one else could see them. They were alone in that small passage.

"Hm," Barty Crouch Junior grunted.

"Harry's back," the Doctor exhaled, breathing quickly, "He's got a Stalker. We need you to Imperio, you know, the classic stuff."

"Right," Moody rolled his eyes.

The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher turned, a few steps. He hesitated for a moment; a few metres from the entrance to the pitch, and public sight.

In a flash, he span around; wand tightly in hand. "_Stupefy!_"

With no time to react, the spell struck the Doctor. Eyes wide, the Time Lord fell to the ground.

Barty Crouch Junior strode up to the Doctor, looking down through narrow eyes. "I'm not your slave any more," he muttered; contemplating something worse as he played with his wand. Then, dismissive, he brushed his wand over the Doctor's head, moved the wand away and murmured the full-body-bind jinx.

A sensation not unlike an egg being cracked ran down his back; he recognized the feeling from the books. Disillusionment charm; he'd been made invisible, and petrified.

The Doctor could do nothing but stare out through unmoving eyes, as the Death Eater impersonating Moody strode away; straight for the Stalker-possessed Harry.

In that time, the Time Lord strained against his magical bindings; unable to move. And no one would, no one could come to help him. He was unseen, and silent.

Out in the pitch, by the entrance of the maze, silence had fallen. Harry stood, sobbing, on the verge of sleep, over Cedric's lifeless body.

The crowd had only just realized the Champion's death; and his father forced his way out of the crowd, distraught. "That's my son!"

Moody knocked Amos Diggory out the way, irritable, gripping Harry by the arm.

"He's back," the Boy Who Lived murmured, weary. "He's back…"

The Death Eater hefted Harry to his feet. He muffled a smile with his twisted lips; perfect.

"Who?" he spoke gruffly; knowing the answer, and ecstatic with it.

Without waiting for an answer, Barty Crouch Junior pulled the lethargic Harry out of the pitch; relying on the distraction that the lifeless Cedric provided.

"L-Lord Voldemort," Harry stuttered, as he was dragged out the passage.

The Doctor lay, invisible, along the side of the route. He was forced to stare, as the Death Eater took Harry Potter away.

A triumphant sneer began to play over Moody's lips. His master had returned, and the world would tremble.

Harry and Crouch reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts office; cluttered with an assortment of supposed Dark Detectors. Many of them were active; off the scale. Irritable, despite his 'joyous' news, Moody jabbed a curse at a sneakoscope, silencing the whirring.

Harry slumped into a seat; Barty watched, slowly enjoying himself. The last Stalker was in the Boy Who Lived; slowly taking away his life. Crouch was perhaps the only person, in all Hogwarts, who'd be willing to cast Imperio, to save the Boy. And he wouldn't.

"The Dark Lord's back, you're sure?" Moody spoke once more, gruff, inwardly happy. He kept his emotions hidden.

"Yeah," Harry exhaled, after a few seconds taking in the speech.

The black haired student found he couldn't concentrate. It came from the same feeling of numbness spreading up his arms. Half-asleep, perpetually.

His eyes couldn't stay open, his body wouldn't let him remain conscious, his nerves were gradually fading, and his brain took too long to process anything. The symptoms were part of an inordinately long list; and if he thought through them, it might takes days, especially with the constant distraction, the constant lack of any mental concentration.

"And the Death Eaters?" Barty Crouch paced around his office, slapping the whirling Dark Detectors, and covering a Foe-Glass.

"They were there too," Harry murmured after several more seconds.

Inwardly, 'Moody' wondered how much longer Harry could live. He looked tired enough; the Stalker couldn't have much more to drain.

In any case… Crouch flicked his wand across at the door; slamming it shut, and locking it tightly. Harry didn't pay any attention, he couldn't.

Well, that would give them a bit more time. Enough for Harry to have the last of his life leeched from him; and if not, Crouch would just have to help the Stalker along.

"Did he punish them?" Barty looked sideways at Harry suddenly, eyes wide in a maniacal glee.

Harry blinked a few times, swaying in his seat. Something was off.

"In the graveyard," the Death Eater snapped, "Did he punish them? Those that ran away, denied him, stayed out of Azkaban? Tell me!" His voice rose to a shout, "There's nothing I despise more than a Death Eater who roamed free."

"They," Harry closed his eyes, almost drifting off, "He…he wasn't happy."

Strangely, his scar seemed to begin tingling. As his own mind seemed to slow, his senses failing, something else seemed to try and take over. That something was in his scar; burning, raging.

_We must bring the Dementors to our side. Allow those who did not deny me to serve us once more._ Harry heard a high, cruel voice come from his own lips. Flashes of darkness; screams, and of the masked Death Eaters. _Worm-tail came back to follow me, he heard the rumours of my continued life. Can any of you say the same? There was just one other who dared to help._

Harry gasped, blinking, still immeasurably tired, as he looked vaguely around at Moody's office.

"Boy," the teacher walked closer, wooden leg clunking on the floor, knocking Harry's shoulder.

"Y-yes sir?" Harry murmured, still on the verge of sleep.

"I asked what happened. What did he do to those who betrayed him?" Crouch seemed a little to keen to learn the answers.

"He," Harry closed his eyes, sleepy, "He," his eyes suddenly snapped open; remembering. "There's a Death Eater in Hogwarts! He told me, he…they…" once more his lack of focus made him trail off.

"Don't worry," Moody muttered curtly, "I know who the Death Eater is."

"Is it, um, Karkaroff?" Harry swayed, tired

"Karkaroff?" Moody barked a laugh, "That fool tried to run away as soon as he felt the Dark Mark call us back. He got killed; people say it was some woman."

There was something Harry wasn't picking up, something…something obvious. Oh, why was he missing it?

"The-then who?" Harry almost fell out the chair.

Barty Crouch Junior paced around the office, contemplating for a few seconds. Well, Harry was close to death as it stood. Why not?

He wanted to see the boy lose hope; to see the life drain from his eyes, and to see the fear. The damned child who's killed the Dark Lord.

'Moody' paced around, to just in front of Harry. He lowered himself, until he was eye level.

"I am," he spat.

Harry shrank back; the vague consciousness in him just enough to register fear. What? That was…impossible. Dumbledore trusted him! Why would he serve Voldemort?

"I- I-" Harry couldn't say anything more. His eyes slowly drifted shut.

The Death Eater above him grunted, striking the boy's cheek once. No reaction. He rolled his eyes; irate, raising his wand.

"_Crucio!_" in Moody's body, in Moody's voice, the spell seemed odd, out of place. Yet still exceedingly menacing.

Nothing. Harry's body felt nothing, save for a distant, vague tingling. And even that, he didn't have enough energy to react to. He slumped forwards.

Barty Crouch Junior grabbed Harry's hair, forcing the student's head back, grunting. Harry's eyes were closed; the mind behind them as good as inert.

A muttered curse. The Death Eater stepped away, muttering a spell; opening Harry's eyes. That was all. No help. He watched, shaking in anticipation, as the Boy Who Lived gradually began to fade away. Crouch kept his wand tightly held in his hand; no one was coming to help, and he would not let the student escape.

O

The ghost of Rory Pond drifted through Hogwarts castle. The final task had just occurred; casting his mind back, it was easy to remember what happened.

Moving with a grace, a self-assurance cultivated over many decades, yet one he did not feel, he found his way to the Quidditch Pitch; where his living self, still disguised as Dumbledore, was hastily reading his script from the fourth Harry Potter book.

"Hi, um, me," the ghost began speaking, struggling with the odd situation.

"Huh?" Dumbledore's body turned around, a fashion very bizarre for the elderly frame.

"Try page 589," the ghost said, remembering. "Trust me."

The living Rory blinked; looking at his own ghost, confused. Then, doing his best not to think about the confusing circumstances that would lead to this, he flicked his way a little way back to the page number.

Rory quickly read the page, frowning as he got to the end. He looked up suddenly, into the eyes of his own ghost.

"Harry's in danger," he said suddenly. "There's no Dumbledore to save him from Moody."

"Yeah," the ghost nodded, as if it were obvious. "You need the Doctor."

"Right," Rory paused, "Where's the Doctor?"

"I can't remember," the ghost admitted, frowning, "I never actually went there."

Amy popped into the box for a moment. She looked from the ghost, to her living husband; "Back in a sec," she said, broadly grinning.

The redhead ran out the box, to McGonagall; who stood alone, having just finished a fairly loud conversation with the Minister for Magic. Fudge seemed, to put it mildly, unhappy with the deaths occurring at Hogwarts: Minerva hoped she'd managed to avoid him shutting the school.

"Hey!" Amy waved, "Hey, McGonagall."

The head of Gryffindor turned, frowning, tight-lipped.

"I need you to find something for me," Amy said, grinning. "Well, someone."

"What?" McGonagall's eyes narrowed, "And who?"

"The Doctor of course," Amy skipped closer, "Same way Dumbledore did. Third year apparently, right at the start."

"Third…" Minerva's voice trailed off. Frowning, she raised her wand to the air, and then, tentative: "_Accio_ Doctor!"

A clatter, and a distant rumble. The grass near them was flattened, yet nothing visible was there.

Frowning, McGonagall murmured a charm. The Doctor's paralyzed frame came into sight; laying on the ground, previously made invisible. McGonagall knelt by his side, touched her wand to his head. She murmured something else, and the Time Lord came, seemingly, back to life.

"Well that's better!" he gasped, grinning, "Hi Amy, hi Minnie, um, Minerva!" he beamed. Then he fell serious; "Oh, old Moody's got Harry, hasn't he? Well, we can chat later. Not that anything stops me chatting. Onwards!"

Regaining his vigour with startling ease, the Doctor ran back to the castle. In one hand, he held the shining, green, sonic screwdriver high. Amy followed him, eagerly; McGonagall stopped after a few steps, walking back to collect many more teachers.

O

Harry knew nothing of the world. It had almost all faded away. Sound was reduced to a misty echo. Sight was no more than a featureless blur, one he couldn't focus on. Any sensation was met with an impenetrable numbness; and his mind registered none of it. His brain was a complete void, too slow to notice any of his tiredness now.

Moody stood above him, wand in hand, and looking down with a savage victory. Something odd stirred within him; he pushed the sensation away.

Time to finish the job.

Clenching his hand into a fist, the Death Eater pressed the tip of his wand to Harry's scar. "_Avada Kedavra._" Nothing.

Barty brought his wand up; peering at it. If that…

"_Stupefy!_" The door swung open, lock bypassed, and the Doctor ran in, grinning broadly, sonic screwdriver held in front of him and transmitting the same signal, preventing any and all magic.

"Hi Barty," he grinned.

Somehow he'd forgotten the wrongs committed; well, not forgotten, simply brushed them aside. Now wasn't the time for vengeance, now was the time for life, for saving life.

A man with the appearance of Dumbledore followed him in; along with Amy, McGonagall, Severus Snape, and a rather bewildered Minister for Magic.

"Alastor?" Fudge exclaimed, surprised at seeing the righteous, even if paranoid, man holding the Boy Who Lived at wand-point.

"That's not Moody," Rory/Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "Something so simple, we didn't notice," he winced, knowing his lines were wrong, "Maybe, um, in the excitement of the night he's forgotten to…" Rory wasn't sure what to say next.

Moody looked up sharply; making an action, as if to gulp from his hip flask. Too slow. The Doctor flicked his screwdriver off; a curse was flung across the room, stunning the Death Eater.

They watched as the Polyjuice Potion wore off, revealing his true form. Barty Crouch Junior, Death Eater.

"Hello," the Doctor strode forwards, grinning at the snarling man, "Do I know you?" the Time Lord frowned, "You know, I'm sure I've seen you before."

Barty spat up at the Doctor.

"Oh, fine, be rude," the Doctor rolled his eyes, stepping away. He turned to face the other teachers, "I don't suppose you know why he looks familiar? Nah, didn't think so," the Time Lord sighed, looking down.

"Anyway," Cornelius Fudge coughed, "I would very much like to know what's going on."

"Boring," the Doctor pouted, "Anyway, first thing's first. Stalker." The Time Lord stood in front of Harry; the boy was slumped forward, breathing imperceptibly, weary.

"Oh, those again," Fudge rolled his eyes, "They would seem to be inconsequential-"

"Oh, inconsequential now?" the Doctor interrupted; "Nothing's inconsequential. Ever. Now, is anyone going to cast Imperio?"

Silence greeted his matter-of-fact question.

"Come now," Fudge said eventually, "You cannot be serious."

"I'm always serious," the Doctor looked surprised. A second later, he corrected himself; "Except when I'm not. But I'm serious now, no, wait, I'm the Doctor. Sirius is somewhere else. So, anyone going to help?"

"The Imperius curse," Fudge echoed, aghast

"Yeah," the Doctor nodded, easily, unused to the wizard stigma, "It's the only way to banish a Stalker. Affects a mind, tell them to leave; it runs away. Simple."

The Minister for Magic just stared at the Doctor. Few people discussed the Imperius curse so openly; let alone with the Minister listening.

"Is this the kind of man you employ?" Fudge looked around at 'Dumbledore', incredulous

"He-he has his moments," Rory stuttered.

"Doctor," Minerva McGonagall cut in.

The Doctor knew nothing of the wizarding world; at least, he knew nothing of the details, it seemed. Imperio was one of the three greatest taboos of magic.

"Do not discuss the Imperius curse quite so lightly," she reprimanded, "It steals all of a person's will. It is not something to be done quite so easily."

"It is not something to be done _at all_," Fudge interjected. "Use on another human is a life sentence in Azkaban."

"It won't be on a human," the Doctor rolled his eyes. "Oh, you lot and your categories. An alien will be told to leave. Harry's life will be saved. Saving a life; is that really so hard?"

"Complete loss of will," Minerva shook her head; "It is not a good fate."

"Is it better to die?" the Doctor looked sharply at the teacher; "Lesser of two evils. It's always the human prejudice that stops you seeing it; you can save Harry, and the Stalker won't mind. I can promise you that; it won't even notice."

Silence. The Doctor stared at McGonagall and Fudge; breathing heavily.

It was an odd contrast; just behind him, the Boy Who Lived was exhaling with similar strain, yet with none of the weight.

And behind the two teachers, Snape watched, sneering. By him, Amy and Rory stood, just to the side, trying to remain uninvolved.

"Come on," Amy murmured, rolling her eyes.

Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, did seem somewhat swayed by the Doctor's plea. Yet he could not come out in support; reputation was worth as much as the man in the murky world of Ministry politics. He could not forgive an Unforgivable.

The argument was effectively brought to a halt as someone snapped. "_Imperio!_"

Harry breathed a little easier; blinking several times, then slumping further forwards. He exhaled audibly; simply asleep.

The group looked back, shocked, at the once-Death Eater Severus Snape, wand held high in a pale hand. He sneered at them; as if daring them to comment. Then, surprisingly, he flashed one look at Amy; almost in thanks.

"S-Snape," Fudge stuttered, "You know I can't let this go."

"I know," nasal tones from the black haired potions master

"But I'll, um, make sure the court knows of the, um, special circumstances," the Minister seemed strangely small, thrown outside his comfort zone.

"I expect nothing left," Snape snapped, turning; pacing out. Unsure, the Minister followed; supposedly to escort Snape for a court case.

The wizard paced past Amy; the redhead heard a few words whispered, presumably not meant for anyone to hear: "His mother's eyes."

The Doctor just stared, aghast, after them. Nothing to say.

He didn't want this. It wasn't right; not at all. It was necessary, simply necessary. Unavoidable.

Then again, far worse atrocities had been justified under just that statement, in the past. At least this time, Snape was hopefully to be given a fair trial; and to be released. They couldn't blame him. Not for…not for this.

In the office once more, Harry exhaled gently. Recovering

O

"Boy!" a woman's cruel voice; carrying across the field.

Draco turned; irate. A woman in an iron mask, long tangled hair descending, beckoned him. Momentarily nervous, the blonde Slytherin approached her; hand drifting towards his wand.

"Next year," her voice was reluctant, almost. She cared nothing for him; that was obvious. "Come when I say."

She flicked a talisman over to Draco. It looked almost like a coin from a distance, until he saw the details.

A snake's head; a serpent, flat, a frontal view of the snake about to bite. The fangs, etched onto the surface, were curled outwards, so that it gave almost the appearance of bulls' horns.

"Why?" Draco looked up, gripped by a fit of disobedience.

"You think you have a choice?" She simpered, purposefully mocking.

O

Snape's escort to the Ministry had been attacked; Minerva carried the message to the Doctor. Her eyes were wide, gripped with something between fear and indignation.

They knew next to nothing; one person survived, after hastily disapparating. They never saw how it ended; only a flash as the group was attacked.

Snape was to be escorted to the Ministry, to stand trial for casting the Imperius curse. The group escorting him had been attacked; all, save for the one who escaped, were found dead. Except for Snape; that teacher was nowhere to be seen. The working theory was some kind of abduction; though why, neither the Ministry nor Hogwarts could tell.

Only one piece of useful information had been given to them; the wizard who escaped had caught one quick glimpse of the attacker. Apparently, it was a woman, face disguised behind a metal mask.

Upon hearing the news, the Doctor paced away, alone with his thoughts and guilt. Dumbledore's Office; the best retreat he had.

"I'm sorry," the Time Lord's words whispered to the air.

Seconds later, the headmaster's echo came back. Urgent, the Doctor ran over to him; overwhelmingly sad, guilty tears threatened to fall from his eyes.

"Not you to," the Doctor murmured, hand resting on the possessed Dumbledore's shoulders, "I can't take much more guilt."

_I can't take much more guilt._

"Please, let him go," the Doctor's eyes held enough emotion to sway most species in the galaxy. _Please let him go_. Mocking. "Why do you have to punish him?"

Silence. The Doctor stared into wide blue eyes.

"Next year," the Time Lord was speaking urgently now; "Next year, we need him, Earth needs him. That man, that brilliant man, Albus Dumbledore, he duels with Lord Voldemort. Saves Harry's life; that's pivotal, Harry could've died there…and if he does, then Voldemort will win. Dominate Earth; the immortal wizard."

_The immortal wizard_. The Voice seemed to take a perverse pleasure in relishing the words which the Doctor struggled with.

"Sorry for everything, but-" Pause. No echo. "I-" _I_.

Their voices had synced up. Each word came together; from his lips, and from Dumbledore's.

Pale, shaken, the Doctor turned, walking away. Not giving up, not yet and not ever. But there was no more to be done. Nothing more that could be.

**To Be Continued...**


End file.
